Angelus Vindicta
by TrueStarGoddess
Summary: "Don't you want to help, Dr. McKay?" D blinked up at him innocently. "No. Don't do that," Rodney pointed a finger at her, "It's not going to work this time." "You DO want to help us," John looked at Rodney with wide eyes and a pouty lower lip, "Don't you, Rodney?" "Grown men should not be making puppy dogs eyes," Rodney insisted. Part two of Angel Series.
1. Preparation

**This story sticks partially to canon and as such, contains major spoilers (and actual dialogue but I'll try to keep that to a minimum) for the SGA series from season two onwards. It is not, however, a novelization of the series. One of the main points of my writing this story was to fix some of the issues I have with the canon-writing, so as the story progresses, it will deviate further. I'm trying to give the story more of a "team-feels" vibe, rather than romance, but I did sneak a bit of Sparky (and a couple other minor relationships) into the background. I ninja-edit ALL THE TIME, even after the story is finished, because I'm more than a little neurotic, but I usually include a note in the summary if I've made any major changes. I'll try to add specific episode titles to the relevant chapters and update the tags as I go along. Let me know if I missed something in the tags!**  
 **This is the website I use for the dialogue parts - .**

 ** _IMPORTANT UPDATE_ : I have decided to rewrite this story as part of NaNoWriMo. I was having a lot of trouble figuring out where the story was supposed to go and recently I realized it was because I was having issues with what I had already written. I have made some changes in the first few chapters so hopefully with my 50k words in November deadline, I'll be able to make good progress with the story. I have deleted the previous chapter postings so I apologize if I lost any comments in the process. I am reposting this first chapter now and the rest will come in chunks throughout November. Thank you for your patience!**

 **This is the second installment of the Angel 'Verse series. I highly recommend reading that first, though it's not strictly necessary. Don't want to? Here's what you need to know-**  
 **1\. The OFC - whose only name so far is "D" - was supposed to kill Elizabeth (and General O'Neill) before she went back to Atlantis. Jack convinced her to be Elizabeth's bodyguard instead. Until very recently, everyone thought that D was just an executive assistant. Now they think she works for the CIA. She speaks lots of languages, can remember everything, and always carries knives.**  
 **2\. John and Elizabeth started "dating" shortly after they came back from Earth. They're keeping it a secret...for various reasons.**  
 **3\. Everyone with the ATA gene experiences Ancient tech through a different sense. John is the only one who uses sight. Lorne and D both use sound. Rodney uses touch. Carson uses smell.**  
 **4\. Atlantis has a partially functional AI. It's getting stronger. Rodney's trying to figure it out, but he's a busy guy. Not many people know about her, but those who do call her "Rosie" (like Rosie the Robot from the Jetsons), much to John's chagrin.**  
 **5\. There are eight giant cats called mphakas (a cross between a siamese cat and a large jaguar) living on Atlantis. Four of them were adopted by military people (and D) and four were adopted by civilians. They are usually referred to as "kits". The kits are highly intelligent, extremely playful, and have all the characteristics of a pet dog. The military four have been trained almost like police dogs, while the civilian four have been trained for search and rescue.**  
 **6\. Teyla, Ronon, and D have formed a make-shift family. They use Satedan terms of endearment for each other most of the time and occasionally they aggressively cuddle...mostly naked.**  
 **7\. Elizabeth has been receiving self-defense training from D and Teyla. She's getting better, but she still gets bruises on her ass from falling during training.**  
 **8\. Rodney and D started out disliking each other. A lot. Two people that smart with those size egos? It was inevitable. They became sort of wary allies for a while, then reluctantly fond acquaintances. Now they're friends. I guess. It's weird. They still argue, but now there's mild cuddling involved sometimes.**  
 **9\. D became friends with Michael. Until he found out what the Lanteans did to him. Then he kind of had a mental meltdown and D killed him. She got in trouble for it.**  
 **10\. Which brings us to this (where our story begins) - The IOA sent Mr. Woolsey to Atlantis to do Elizabeth's yearly review in person. They didn't outright say they were trying to get rid of her, but the writing's on the wall.**  
 **11\. Oh, and one more thing, Elizabeth worked out a deal with the Taranians. 50 of their scientists are working on Atlantis in exchange for use of the Orion. The rest of the rescued Taranians were resettled on another planet. Major Lorne gets to command the Orion, which makes John pout every time he thinks about it.**

 **As usual, I sadly do not own any of the Stargate characters or terms, only borrow them for my own amusement. I make no profit from writing this.**

 **Google Translate was used for all foreign languages. If you actually speak the language and see something that needs to be corrected, please let me know! I will fix it as quickly as I can.**

 **Questions, comments, reviews, and kudos are always appreciated.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"Daedalus is five minutes out."

Chuck's announcement caused everyone in the control room to begin straightening their uniforms.

"Thank you, Chuck," Elizabeth turned to head down the main stairs.

"Everything in place?" D checked the large digital watch around her right wrist.

"I received word from the last department ten minutes ago, ma'am," Chuck nodded and lifted a hand to his earpiece, "Everything's set."

"We'll be waiting in the gate room then," D moved to follow Elizabeth's path down the stairs, "Page the Colonel and McKay again, please."

"Will do," Chuck called after her, "Also, I just got word from Colonel Caldwell. He says 'Uniform since we slowed down'."

"Got it, Sergeant," D raised her voice to be heard as she joined Elizabeth and Teyla at the bottom of the stairs, "Let all affected parties know we're going with Plan A until otherwise notified."

"Uniform?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, ma'am," D agreed, "Changed when they dropped out of hyperspace. With the other information Hermiod sent me, I think Plan A will be a good starting point. We can adjust accordingly once we gather more intel. Chuck's contacting the appropriate people now."

"I do not believe we will encounter any difficulties," Teyla zipped her uniform jacket a little less than halfway up, "As long as we all play our roles, this Mr. Woolsey will find no fault with any of the senior staff here."

"Speaking of senior staff," Elizabeth glanced down to her watch, "Where are-"

"We're here! I'm here!" Rodney shouted, rushing into the gate room behind John, "I'm not late. I still have five minutes."

"Four now," D frowned at Rodney's appearance, "I thought I told you to stay out of the Orion last night."

"Who said I was in the Orion?" Rodney questioned, "I would've been here earlier, but Sheppard dragged me to the mess this morning."

"I made sure Rodney was fed so he won't be crabby," John looked from D to Elizabeth, "He wearing a suit or a uniform?"

"Uniform," Elizabeth answered, "Looks like Plan A, for now."

"No one said anything," D rolled her eyes and moved closer to Rodney, "I can tell by looking at you."

"I get hypoglycemic, not crabby. And you can't possibly tell-" Rodney stopped abruptly when D unzipped his jacket and started pushing it off his shoulders, "What are you doing? Why are you stripping me?"

"I wanted to see more of your body," D deadpanned, "I'm a sucker for fantastic shoulders."

"What?" Rodney's cheeks flushed pink, "Really?"

"No, Rodney," D rolled her eyes as she pulled the jacket from his arms, "Your jacket is dusty. And wrinkled," she shook out his jacket, "Which means you slept in the Orion's crew quarters again – in your uniform, again – instead of sleeping in your own bed," D sighed as she stepped around Rodney to hold his jacket out, "At least Radek was smart enough to make sure you got some sleep."

"Radek doesn't make me do anything," Rodney rolled his eyes as he slipped his arms back through the sleeves. D held the jacket steady for him, then reached up to brush her hands over his shoulders and back to smooth out some of the remaining wrinkles while he zipped it to the middle of his chest, "And I doubt Woolsey's going to notice a couple wrinkles in my uniform."

"According to Steven," Elizabeth smiled in amusement as D pulled Rodney's head down and ran her fingers through his hair to smooth it down, "Woolsey changed into the Atlantis uniform as soon as the Daedalus dropped out of hyperspace."

"Believe me," D moved away from Rodney to crouch in front of John, "He'll notice."

"Really, Vaughn?" John sighed as D started re-lacing one of his boots, "There's nothing wrong with the way my boots are laced."

"Yes, there is," D pulled the laces tight and tied them in a neat bow, tucking the loops into the top of his boot, "I'm surprised they don't fall off your feet while you're walking."

"Why isn't Ronon here?" Rodney scowled as D re-laced John's second boot, "Why does he get a free pass?"

"Because I told him that if he couldn't show up with less than three knives," D stood and eyed John's hair speculatively, "He shouldn't show up at all. He decided to watch the kits instead. Carson took them all to the mainland."

"Don't even think about it," John narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not sure there's anything I could do about it anyway," D let out a heavy sigh, "At least not without some industrial strength glue. And I'm not even sure that would work."

"I have never seen his hair look other than it does," Teyla declared, "Perhaps if he were to trim it to a shorter length…"

"Hey," John protested, running a protective hand over his hair, "There's nothing wrong with my hair either."

"Are you done yet?" Rodney huffed in annoyance.

D stepped back to survey the group. Each of them wore the Atlantis gray uniform, different colored triangular panels on their jackets according to each of their roles, Atlantis and flag patches displayed on their shoulders.

Elizabeth's jacket had red panels on the front, matching the red tee-shirt underneath, jacket unzipped halfway. Her chocolate brown curls fell just past the collar of her jacket and her pants were neatly pressed, clean, dark gray tennis shoes underneath them. Teyla's jacket had the same red panels but she wore one of her Athosian vests underneath, textured lavender fabric with a brown leather tie laced through the metal rings at the top. Her light chestnut hair fell smoothly to her shoulders, short bangs across her forehead. Her pants were as neatly pressed as Elizabeth's but she wore black boots underneath instead of tennis shoes.

John's uniform was a slightly darker gray, black panels on the front and a clean black tee shirt underneath. His pants didn't have the same crisp crease that Elizabeth and Teyla's did, but they were clean and unwrinkled, his boots now tightly laced over the bottom of them. His gun was strapped to his right thigh, knife sheath hanging off his belt next to it, and his black hair was its usual spiky mess. Rodney's uniform was the same darker gray with blue panels, both pants and jacket still visibly wrinkled. His short brown hair was now mostly in order, thanks to D's efforts, and his dark gray tee shirt and tennis shoes were relatively tidy compared to everything else.

"Do we pass inspection now, Officer Vaughn?" John drawled lazily.

"Mostly," D frowned slightly, "I guess."

"I don't see anyone scrutinizing every detail of your appearance, Red," Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.

"I doubt you will find anything out of place with regards to my appearance, Rodney," D took a step back, "But you're welcome to try."

D wore the same darker gray uniform as John and Rodney with the same red panels as Elizabeth and Teyla. She wore a black pullover underneath her jacket, thin zipper pulled up to the base of her neck. Her jacket was zipped exactly hallway up and she wore tightly laced black boots underneath her pressed pants. She wore her gun on her left thigh, black straps somehow not interfering with the crease in her pants. Her dark burgundy hair was twisted up into a sleek bun, pinned low at the nape of her neck, and her long bangs were swept neatly to the side.

Rodney's eyes flickered over D from top to bottom and when he found nothing out of place, exactly as she said, he dropped his arms back to his sides, muttering under his breath.

"Ma'am," D took Elizabeth's elbow, "If you would…"

Elizabeth let D mover her so she was lined up with the exact center of the stairs and the glass windows above them. D moved John to Elizabeth's right side, one step back from her shoulder, then Rodney to John's right side. Teyla moved to Elizabeth's left side without prompting, leaving a space between her and Elizabeth for D.

"Does it really matter where we stand?" Rodney grumbled.

"Yes," D looked up to the control room, raising her voice to be heard, "Time, Sergeant?"

"Coming into orbit now, ma'am," Chuck replied quickly, "One minute."

"We must make a good first impression on Mr. Woolsey," Teyla glanced over to Rodney, "Proper presentation will help with that."

"I suppose this will have to do," D took her place at Elizabeth's left side, standing in line with John a step back from Elizabeth's shoulder, "Although, you boys could try smiling. Politely, if you can manage it."

"It's one guy from the IOA," Rodney rolled his eyes, "You've been buzzing around the City for the last six weeks getting everything ready. We're prepared. We're more than prepared. If anything, we're over-prepared."

"Rodney," D spoke overly sweetly, "I swear to whatever you find holy, if you mess this up-"

"Dr. Vaughn," Elizabeth interrupted, reaching back to touch her fingers to the back of D's hand as she continued in a softer tone, "D, I appreciate all the effort you've put into this but…you're making me nervous. I'll be fine. It's a yearly review, not an execution."

"Sorry, Elizabeth," D ducked her head, "I'm just trying to make sure everything to goes smoothly."

"Atlantis, this is Colonel Caldwell of the Daedalus," Caldwell's oddly formal voice crackled over the radio, "I am requesting permission to beam down Mr. Woolsey before we begin offloading supplies."

"Showtime," Elizabeth moved her hand from D's and lifted her other to tap her earpiece, "Daedalus, this is Dr. Weir of the Atlantis Expedition. The gate room is clear. You have permission to proceed."

There was a bright flare of white light in front of them then a balding man with sharp brown eyes behind his round glasses appeared, a small black rolling suitcase behind him. He was dressed in the same Atlantis gray uniform as Elizabeth and Teyla, red panels on the jacket and a black tee shirt underneath, gray tennis shoes on his feet.

"Mr. Woolsey," Elizabeth stepped forward and offered her hand, "Welcome to Atlantis and the Pegasus Galaxy. How was your trip?"

"Thank you, Dr. Weir," Woolsey shook her hand briefly, "The trip was long, but ultimately uneventful."

"That's good to hear," Elizabeth smiled politely, "I believe you already know most of my senior staff. Lt Colonel John Sheppard, the Expedition's Military Commander," John nodded once as Elizabeth gestured to him, "Dr. Rodney McKay, the Head of our Science and Research departments," Rodney's face twisted into something that was probably supposed to be a polite smile as Elizabeth turned to her other side, "Operations Officer D Vaughn, our Chief Intel Analyst and my executive assistant," D tipped her head forward slightly in acknowledgment before she took a step back, "And this is Ambassador Teyla Emmagan of the Athosians. As I'm sure you know, she and her people have been great allies since the beginning of this expedition."

"I would like to offer you the traditional greeting of my people, Mr. Woolsey," Teyla moved forward to grasp each of Woolsey's upper arms in her hands and tilted her head forward, "to welcome you to the Pegasus Galaxy."

"Oh, I-uh-Of course," Woolsey stammered, tilting his head forward to touch his forehead to Teyla's briefly, "Thank you, Ambassador Emmagan, for your kind welcome."

"Please, Mr. Woolsey," Teyla smiled warmly as she released him, "You must call me Teyla."

"Richard," Woolsey returned her smile hesitantly.

"Dr. Beckett would have been here as well," Elizabeth drew Woolsey's attention back to her, "But he's currently on the mainland. He has regularly scheduled visits there, providing medical care for the Athosians and the Pulooy."

"That's perfectly all right, Dr. Weir," Woolsey tugged on the bottom of his jacket to straighten it, "As long as I get the chance to speak to him before I leave."

"He's scheduled to return this evening," Elizabeth assured him.

"Mr. Woolsey," D stepped forward again, "I've arranged for Ambassador Emmagan to take you on a quick tour of the City. If you'd like, I can have your bag sent to your room while Teyla shows you around. Also, if you would provide me with a list of people you'd like to speak to, I can make sure they are available to you."

"I can certainly provide you with that list, Officer Vaughn," Woolsey agreed, "But I'm not sure the tour is necessary. I really should get to work if I'm going to have time to interview everyone."

"Atlantis is truly a magnificent place," Teyla moved closer to Woolsey again, linking her arm through his as she started walking slowly towards the hallway, "Surely you have a little time to spare, Richard. It would be a shame if you were unable to see the wonderful place you have read so much about in our reports."

"I suppose I can spare twenty minutes," Woolsey relented as Teyla led him from the room.

Elizabeth waited until they were out of hearing range before she turned back to the group.

"That went well," Elizabeth looked over to D, "Didn't it?"

"Mostly well," D wrinkled her nose, "He's an A-sharp keysmash."

"What does that even mean?" Rodney stared at D incredulously.

"Rosie made him an A#4," D explained, "She didn't bother to assign him a chord and he's so flustered at the moment that he hasn't settled into one of his own. It's like someone smashed their fist onto the keyboard by that note and hit everything around it. His sound clashes badly with Atlantis' natural song. It's…disconcerting. I think she's decided not to like him because she's quite fond of Elizabeth. She understands the rest of us enough to know what's going on and she's…nervous, I guess."

"While I appreciate the sentiment," Elizabeth gave John a pointed look, "Rosie not going to cause any problems for Mr. Woolsey. Is she?"

"I'll try to talk to her," John rolled his eyes, "But I can't guarantee she'll understand or that she'll listen if she does. And I'd like to go on record –again – to say to I object to calling her Rosie."

"If we're going on record about things," Rodney gave D a smug smile, "I'd like to point out that not once did Woolsey comment on anyone's uniform."

"He didn't comment, but he definitely noticed," D insisted, "His micro-expressions shifted distinctly when he looked at you and the Colonel."

"Micro-expressions?" Rodney asked warily.

"Micro-expressions are involuntary facial movements, most lasting only a fraction of a second," D clarified, "They usually occur when someone is trying to hide their feelings, but they can also happen when the person doesn't know how they are feeling. It's nearly impossible to control them and they're pretty much universal on Earth, so with the proper training and equipment, they can be used to read a person."

"I'm sure you've had the proper training," Rodney snarked, "But I don't see any equipment here. You can't possibly notice something that lasts for only a fraction of a second."

"You'd be surprised what she notices," Elizabeth bit back a smile, "D is extremely observant."

"Hyper-observant actually. I can't help but notice. Woolsey's nose wrinkled slightly when he looked at you," D pointed to the bridge of her nose, "That's a sign of disgust. While it could be that he really doesn't like you, the fastidiousness of his own appearance makes me think he didn't like the unkempt appearance of your uniform. When he looked at Sheppard," D tapped the corner of her mouth, "The left side of his mouth lifted slightly. That's usually a sign of contempt or hate. Since he did almost the same thing, though not as noticeable, when he looked at me, I'm thinking it's because the Colonel is military and because we are both wearing guns. It seems Mr. Woolsey disapproves of firearms."

"Seriously?" Rodney gave her a flat look, "I think you're making this stuff up."

"That, right there," D smirked and pointed to Rodney's face, "That thing that happens in the space between your eyebrows, that indicates doubt. You're welcome to look at the security footage, if you don't believe me. You'll have to slow the frames considerably to notice, but the expressions will be there."

"Can I go now?" Rodney looked back to a still amused Elizabeth, "Some of us have real work to do."

"In a minute, Rodney," Elizabeth turned to D, "Are we still on Plan A?"

"Actually," D tilted her head to the side, "Plan B would be better. It looks like he bought new tennis shoes for the trip. And new black tee shirts."

"Plan B then," Elizabeth turned back to Rodney, "You can go, but make sure you show up on-time to the staff meeting tomorrow morning and to your interview," Elizabeth paused, "And maybe you could take a shower and change into a clean uniform sometime before then."

"This is ridiculous," Rodney threw his hands into the air, "My uniform cannot possibly make that big of a difference. It's barely dirty. If anything, the wrinkles prove that I've been working hard."

D blinked up at Rodney innocently, "Don't you want to help, Dr. McKay?"

"NO. Don't do that," Rodney pointed a finger at her, "It's not going to work this time."

"You want to make sure Elizabeth keeps her position as leader of the Atlantis Expedition," John looked at Rodney with wide eyes and a pouty lower lip, "Don't you, Rodney?"

"Not you too," Rodney shifted his hand to shake the finger at John, "Don't make that face at me. Grown men should not be making puppy dog eyes."

"It's all right," Elizabeth spoke calmly, "If Rodney doesn't want to participate, I understand. Of course, no one is obligated to do anything to help me in any way. This is a yearly review, after all. It's not like the IOA would try to replace me with someone else if they find something amiss. Someone who would be more concerned about following rules and regulations than-"

"All right, fine!" Rodney threw his hands up again, "I will go take a shower and change my uniform, even though there is absolutely nothing wrong with this one. I'll go check that stupid email again to find out exactly what I'm supposed to be doing for these absurd plans. But then I'm going back to my lab to get some real work done."

"And you'll show up on time for your interview with Mr. Woolsey," Elizabeth smiled warmly.

"And I will show up on time for my interview," Rodney agreed with a huff.

"And you won't insult Woolsey's intelligence," John added.

"And I won't insult Woolsey's intelligence," Rodney grumbled, "Out-loud."

"And you'll take Woolsey's bag to his room," D continued.

"And I'll-wait, what?" Rodney scowled at D, "I will not take his bag to his room. I draw the line at manual labor."

"It was worth a try," D grinned at him as he grabbed the handle of Woolsey's suitcase, "That's okay, I have to go through his stuff anyway."

"I didn't hear that," Elizabeth turned to go up the main stairs.

"Selective hearing is contagious," John drawled as he followed Rodney and D out of the gate room, "Who knew?"


	2. Cooperation

Woolsey looked over the various fruit selections on the table before plucking a particularly delicious looking orange from the bowl. He grabbed a napkin from the small pile next to the fruit and looked around the room for an empty seat. He noticed Colonel Caldwell leaning against a balcony, coffee cup balanced on the railing as he read through papers in a file folder. Woolsey decided to take advantage of the opportunity and walked over to him, holding his orange and napkin in hand.

"Colonel Caldwell," Woolsey greeted him.

"Mr. Woolsey," Caldwell flipped the folder closed.

"Mind if I join you?" Woolsey inquired.

"Of course," Caldwell agreed easily, "How are you settling in?"

"I'm not sure about this uniform," Woolsey laid his napkin over the railing.

"You'd stand out more in a suit and tie," Caldwell pointed out, offering a polite smile.

"Believe me," Woolsey began peeling his orange, dropping the peels onto the napkin, "I've done enough of these investigations to realize that no amount of camouflage is going to disguise who I am or what I'm doing here."

"Investigation?" Caldwell asked evenly.

"Review," Woolsey corrected.

"You're expecting something less than full cooperation?" Caldwell wondered.

"Of course not. Everyone here has been extremely…" Woolsey paused and looked up from his orange, "… _cooperative_ during this investigation. Everyone seems well-prepared. We're just having a conversation here."

"As commander of the _Daedalus_ ," Caldwell started carefully, "I have standing orders to help out around here whenever possible, but I'm not a member of this expedition. I don't answer to the IOA and, unless otherwise directed by my superiors, I don't _have_ to answer your questions."

Woolsey gave Caldwell a polite smile before he turned his attention back to peeling his orange, "The only reason you're not Military Commander of Atlantis is that Dr. Weir insisted that post go to Colonel Sheppard. If she were to leave, you would be the most likely candidate to take over."

Woolsey looked up at Caldwell again to gauge his reactions.

"After the incident with the Goa'uld and the Trust, I doubt that," Caldwell smiled sharply, "That's not why you're here. The IOA doesn't really want militarization. They're just afraid they may have no other choice. Besides, isn't this _review_ supposed to be a mere formality?"

"I think you've already spoken to Dr. Weir," Woolsey responded evenly.

"No," Caldwell replied, "I've just been around long enough to know what's going on."

"Sounds like you're saying you won't come out against Dr. Weir," Woolsey eyed Caldwell shrewdly, "only because you're not confident of the outcome."

"What I'm saying, Mr. Woolsey," Caldwell picked up his coffee cup, "is have pleasant evening."

 _*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*_

Four of the over-stuffed sea green couches that were common in Atlantis framed a short, square table on a large balcony in a little used section of the City. The senior staff were sitting and chatting quietly, most having discarded their uniform jackets over the backs of the couches, leaving them in their normal, more comfortable clothing. John and Ronon shared one couch, both of their large frames sprawled out lazily. Teyla, Evan, and Radek occupied the couch to the left of Ronon, the large open doorway behind them. Evan was seated in the middle and Teyla had her bare feet tucked under one of Ronon's out-stretched calves. Caldwell and Carson shared the next couch, Caldwell sitting at slight angle to give Radek and Evan more room for their legs. Rodney and Elizabeth were on the last couch, facing the hallway, a space between them for D.

There was a massive jet-black cat, stretched out to his full six and a half feet, in the empty space between the back of Elizabeth's couch and the balcony railing, one enormous paw hanging off the edge as he snuffled quietly in his sleep. A second large cat, only slightly smaller than the first, with dove-gray fur darkening to ebony on her ears, nose, paws, and tail, was curled around the black cat, her triangular-shaped head resting on his shoulders.

The conversations trailed off as D stepped onto the balcony carrying a loaded tray of drinks. She stepped over Ronon and Teyla's legs, setting the tray in the center of the table as John and Elizabeth shifted out of her way. D passed a still steaming coffee cup to Rodney, then large mugs of frothing beer to John, Ronon, Caldwell, Radek, and Evan. Teyla, Carson, and Elizabeth each got a tall, clear glass with pale blue liquid and a small dark cherry floating in it, leaving the lone bottle of water on the table for D.

"Is this decaf?" Rodney eyed his cup suspiciously.

"Yes," D settled into the space between Rodney and Elizabeth, her right side pressed up against Rodney from shoulder to knee, "It's too late for caffeine, Rodney. We have a staff meeting at 0800 tomorrow."

"I hate you," Rodney glared at her, "Move over. You're squishing me."

"No, you don't," D grinned at him, "And no, I'm not."

"Would you like to share my _huona_ , Rodney?" Teyla offered, "It is not made with any type of citrus."

"No, but it's made with about eight hundred pounds of sugar," Rodney made a face as he blew on his coffee, "I don't know how you can drink that stuff without going into a diabetic coma."

"I think it's quite lovely," Carson sipped from his glass, "Tastes sort of like raspberries. And peaches."

"You could always try the Pulooy version of beer," John licked a drop of foam from his upper lip, "It's pretty good."

"It tastes like a Guinness," Evan held his mug out across the table, "I haven't taken a drink from this yet, if you want to try it."

"The coffee's fine," Rodney huffed as he finally took a drink, "Even if it is _decaf_."

"If Rodney's done with his requisite complaining," D rolled her eyes, "Can we get started now?"

"Yes, let's," Elizabeth tapped her knuckles on the table twice before she leaned back comfortably, "I hereby call this official-unofficial-pre-senior-staff meeting to order. Carson, how did your trip go?"

"Mostly routine," Carson answered easily, "I got the clinic set up and it's being stocked with our new supplies tomorrow. I've already got a list of volunteers to staff it. Jinto broke his arm falling out of a tree this morning, but I set the bone and put a cast on him. He'll be fine in a month. On a much happier note, Selana is about eight weeks pregnant."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Teyla smiled widely, "I had a feeling she might be. Did she tell you who the father is?"

"She did," Carson glanced to D, "It's Otelia's son, Vathek."

"Oh, really?" D raised an eyebrow, "I'm surprised he made such a good choice. Otelia must be happy – Selana will make an excellent Matriarch one day."

"Will you let me know when their joining ceremony will take place?" Elizabeth's smile matched Teyla's, "I'd love to attend, if they're inviting people other than direct family."

"I will keep you informed," Teyla agreed, "I am sure they would love it if you were present."

"How is the supply situation on the mainland?" D inquired.

"Halling and I got the last of the caches set up," Ronon dropped his head onto the back of the couch, "Everything we used from the Taranians is back now, so we can start saving up again. Enough of that dried plant mix to last Atlantis six months. Dried meat for only two months, but Nemesis and Cor caught another _isilo_ this morning, so that's another three weeks."

The gray cat lifted her head lazily at the mention of her name, blinking her ice-blue eyes slowly. When D peered over the back of the couch to give Nemesis a proud grin, she chirruped smugly before laying her head back on Cor's shoulders.

"Is that why they're so worn out?" Evan laughed, "At least they're clean this time."

"Dunked 'em in the river before we came back," Ronon grinned.

"What's an _isilo_?" Caldwell wondered.

"It is animal we recently discovered is quite abundant further inland on the mainland of this planet," Teyla explained, "Their large size makes them difficult to hunt, but they are quite delicious and their pelts can be used to make a good quality leather."

"It looks a bit like a buffalo," Carson added, "But with longer legs and it's sort of an olive green color with brown spots."

"Have you had what looks like really thick bacon in this mess here?" D looked over to Caldwell, "That's _isilo_."

"What?" Rodney almost choked on a sip of coffee.

"I have. It's pretty tasty," Caldwell remembered, "I thought someone managed to get applewood-smoked bacon sent out here."

"I've been eating some random alien creature?" Rodney gaped at Teyla, "Why didn't anyone tell me? I could've gotten sick."

"You've been eating it several times a week for the past three months, Rodney," John drawled, "I think if there were any side-effects, we'd have noticed by now."

"What about other supplies?" Elizabeth spoke over Rodney's indignant spluttering.

"Another case of P90s and ammunition went missing over the course of the last week," Evan informed her, "And another twenty pounds of C4."

"How unfortunate," D deadpanned.

"Misfortune continues," Radek smiled around the rim of his beer mug, "One of our naquadah generators was damaged yesterday. Rather than trying to ship it back to Earth for repair or decommissioning, we have decided to take it apart here to use for spare parts."

"That's very industrious of you, Radek," Elizabeth tipped her head to him.

"By completely random coincidence," Caldwell leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, "We had an odd malfunction with one of the dematerializers while we were off-loading supplies. Everything that was stored inside has been declared irretrievable. Hermiod thinks it has something to do with an anomalous gas-cloud we passed on the way here."

"Oh dear," Elizabeth sipped at her drink, "I do hope nothing important was stored inside."

"Some basic medical supplies," Caldwell smirked, "extra boots, new blankets, stuff like that. The type of things you would normally requisition for trading or to give away as gestures of good will. Nothing too important."

"Wait a minute," Rodney pouted slightly, "I actually did requisition new boots."

"We're supposed to be getting new uniforms soon," D patted his thigh, "I'm sure your new boots will be here by the time the uniforms arrive. You'll be fine until then."

"We're getting new uniforms?" John asked curiously.

"Supposedly," Elizabeth nodded, "They've been issued to most of the SGC already but…"

"It always takes three times longer to get anything out here," D finished dryly, "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"Does that mean I'm getting my boots or not?" Rodney scowled, "The ones I have now-"

"I'll check in the morning, Rodney," D sighed, "They're probably in one of the dozen mislabeled supply cases I haven't dealt with yet. It's not like you have any missions scheduled for the next couple weeks anyway."

"Are all of these missing supplies and damaged equipment going to turn up in the City somewhere?" Elizabeth questioned, "Or do we need to figure out a way to get them to the mainland?"

"Miko and Parrish set up a space in the South pier," Rodney slapped D's hand away when she reached for his coffee, "It's above the flood line, but still in the damaged sections so nothing will show up on the sensors. I think some of the space Marines have been hanging out in the hallway to keep an eye on things."

"Kagan and Kemp," D explained at John's questioning look, "They set up a rotation of trustworthy guys. No one who's on duty and if anyone asks, they're scouting location for orgies."

Rodney choked on his coffee again, this time spewing it over his lap.

"Vaughn, I thought we talked about this," John watched as D pulled a handkerchief from her pants pocket and traded Rodney for his coffee cup, "I don't want to know what my Marines do in their free time."

"I still think you're missing out," D took a sip of Rodney's coffee as he tried to clean up the worst of the mess, "Marines have awesome naked puppy piles. All that muscle makes them nice and warm."

"You have been joining them for these…" Teyla arched an eyebrow, "…puppy piles?"

"Not me personally, no," D flicked her gaze to Radek, "But I have reliable sources."

Most of the group turned to eye Radek warily as he took another long pull from his beer.

"What?" a mischievous smirk pulled at Radek's lips, "It is true. They are very warm."

"You've been sleeping with _Marines_?" Rodney gaped at him, "As in _plural_?"

"Not listening," John raised the hand not holding his beer to his ear, "La-la-la-la-la."

"I doubt there's much sleeping going on," Evan elbowed Radek in the side, "Especially if Radek is there."

"Gah! No!" Rodney flapped a hand at Evan, "Don't say things like that out-loud. Now the image of naked Radek is going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the night."

"You're welcome," Evan grinned.

"I remember when I had an innocent, rule-following, straight-laced XO," John dropped his hand back to his lap, "I wonder what ever happened to that guy?"

"I'm going to have nightmares," Rodney complained, "If I get to sleep at all."

"That reminds me," Carson reached across Rodney to tap D's knee, "Remind me tomorrow to put in a requisition for more condoms, lubricant, and birth control items. The supplies in my no-questions-asked cabinet are getting a bit low again."

"You're encouraging this, Carson?" Rodney asked incredulously.

"No-questions-asked means I don't ask," Carson waggled a finger at him, "I'm just making sure everyone stays safe."

"You were wondering why we have a pre-meeting," D traded Rodney his cup for the damp handkerchief as she smirked at Caldwell, "the day before the actual staff meeting – this is why."

"Here I thought it was because we were discussing the misappropriation of supplies," Caldwell laughed and toasted her with his mug, "And passing out alcoholic beverages."

"That would be why we hold the pre-meeting here," Elizabeth gestured around them, "on this small section of balcony mysteriously not covered by any security cameras. That no one besides the senior staff knows about."

"And in one of the few areas where even Rodney's voice doesn't carry," D added.

"Hey!" Rodney protested.

"I believe we have gotten off-track," Teyla spoke patiently, "Again."

"Sorry, _kua'ana_ ," D pressed her lips together to hold back her smile. [Hawaiian: older sister (familiar)]

"You are not, _kaina_ ," Teyla rolled her eyes, "It was quite deliberate on your part." [Hawaiian: Hawaiian: younger sister]

"Are we still planning on having the _Orion's_ inaugural flight this week?" Evan changed the subject easily, "From what Rory tells me, everything's pretty much in working order, even if she's not quite ready for any space battles."

"Who's Rory?" John wondered.

Evan tried and failed to suppress a grin, "The _Orion's_ computer."

"You two, Lorne?" John groaned, "I'm revoking everyone's naming privileges, effective immediately."

"She likes being called Rory," Radek insisted, "And she is correct. We have managed to repair nearly all of her primary systems."

"Nearly all?" Elizabeth questioned.

"There's still an issue with the life support in the lower decks," Evan winced.

"Issue may be too kind a word," Radek's face scrunched up, "The smell from the waste disposal systems is coming through the vents with the re-circulated air. We have been unable to locate the problem so far."

"It doesn't keep the ship from functioning in any way but…" Evan trailed off.

"None of the crew will spend more than two minutes down there without gas mask," Radek finished bluntly, "I would like to give my team another two days to locate and fix the problem."

"Take all the time you need," Elizabeth looked over to Rodney, "How are the rest of the Taranians doing?"

"As well as can be expected," Rodney shrugged, "The engineers that wanted to stay in the City instead of crewing the _Orion_ have finally finished their basic training. Nora decided to stay on as my lab assistant and Weird-Nose Guy wants to work with either Collins or Miko, but the-"

"Delmer," D interjected, "His name is Delmer, not Weird-Nose Guy. His nose was broken in an accident when he was a child and it wasn't set properly."

"Whatever," Rodney waved a hand at D, "The rest of them should be able to do preventative maintenance on all the basic systems now."

"And their security assessments?" Elizabeth prompted.

"Finished the second week they were here, ma'am," D answered, "They're cleared for all Level Three areas."

"Let's set up a schedule for them then," Elizabeth ordered.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll speak with them in the morning to get something worked out," D inclined her head, "Anything I need to know about their abilities, Rodney?"

"The one with the," Rodney made a vague gesture towards his own head, "Baldy."

D let out an exasperated sigh, "His name is Arron. You're going to have to learn all their names eventually."

"I only remember names of the smart ones," Rodney snorted, "Or the really stupid ones but that's only so I can yell at them."

D gave him a flat look.

"Right, anyway," Rodney waved his hands at her again, "Baldy, Arron, whatever, he's pretty good with the life-support systems. Better than the rest of them anyway."

"I'll keep that in mind," D nodded.

"Anything else we need to discuss tonight?" Elizabeth looked around the table.

"I had an interesting talk with Woolsey today," Caldwell tapped his fingers on his mug.

"Interesting how?" D narrowed her eyes.

"He kept calling the review an investigation," Caldwell replied carefully, "I'm not sure if it was a slip of the tongue or on purpose. He implied that if I was willing to speak out against Elizabeth," Caldwell glanced to her then back to D, "to ensure that she was ousted as leader of the expedition, that I would be the new leader."

"The IOA is considering militarizing the expedition?" Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up.

"I avoided answering any of his questions," Caldwell continued, "But I did let him know that I was aware of what was going on."

"They wouldn't really bring in some dumb military grunt as the next leader," Rodney asked warily, "Would they?"

D elbowed Rodney in the side.

"No offense, Colonel," Rodney grimaced at Caldwell.

"I thought things went well today," a concerned expression came over Teyla's face, "Was that not the case?"

"Woolsey actually used the word 'investigation'?" D inquired evenly.

"He did," Caldwell nodded, "He also said that no uniform could disguise what he was doing here."

" _À quoi penses-tu_?" Elizabeth studied the calculating look on D's face. [French: French: What are you thinking?]

" _Je pense que nous avons eu raison, madame_ ," D met Elizabeth's questioning stare. [French: I think we were right, ma'am.]

" _Ils essaient de recueillir des preuves_ ," Elizabeth's expression hardened, " _Assez pour se débarrasser de moi_." [French: They're trying to gather evidence.] [French: Enough to get rid of me.]

" _Il semblerait que oui_ ," D agreed, " _Et ils essaient de le faire à votre insu_." [French: It would appear so.] [French: And they're trying to do so without your knowledge.]

"Plan K then?" Elizabeth smiled and tapped her fingers against her half-full glass.

"Weren't we on Plan B still?" John drawled, "Didn't you skip a whole bunch of letters?"

"Actually, I think Plan L would be better," D shifted, crossing one leg smoothly over the other, " _Le costume qu'il a apporté est gris foncé_." [French: The suit he brought is dark gray.]

"Which one is Plan L again?" a scowl creased Rodney's forehead.

" _Si son costume gris_ ," Elizabeth asked curiously, " _Ne serait pas le noir de mieux_?" [French: If his suit is gray ] [French: Wouldn't the black be better?]

" _Sa cravate est vraiment moche_ ," D shook her head, " _La pêche sera un meilleur contraste - le jeter plus hors-bilan_." [French: His tie's really ugly.] [French: The peach will be a better contrast – throw him more off-balance.]

"Do you know what they're talking about?" Caldwell looked across the table to John.

"Not really," John shrugged, "They do most of their plotting in French. Usually we just wait for them to finish and tell the rest of us what to do."


	3. Politics

"Just out of political curiosity," John stormed into Elizabeth's office, "How much trouble is it going to cause you if I knock this Woolsey guy in the head?"

Elizabeth exchanged a look with D, who set down the tablet she was holding on the edge of Elizabeth's desk. The glass door slid shut behind John as D moved over to the other door, waving a hand in front of the panel to close it. She tapped the panel three times, clouding all the glass windows over, and turned to nod once at Elizabeth.

"May I ask _why_ you'd like to do that?" Elizabeth inquired.

"It's just an impulse I had, really, one I suspect I'm going to have again next time I see him," John answered sharply, "He may not even have to say anything."

D smothered a snort of laughter, earning a quick glare from John.

"I've never seen you like this," Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "What did Woolsey say to you?"

"Besides judging every damned decision you've ever made?" John retorted.

"John Sheppard," Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, "Are you defending my honor?"

John paused a moment before responding, " _And_ judging me for agreeing with you."

"Well, don't be too hard on him," Elizabeth leaned forward to set her stylus on top of the tablet in front of her, "He's only doing his job. I think out of all the circling wolves, he's the least likely to actually bite. In fact, with the right motivation, he might even convince the others to leave us alone."

"All right, so," John dropped down into one of the chairs in front of Elizabeth's desk, "No head-knocking."

"It's the thought that counts," Elizabeth smiled.

"Fine," John slung an arm over the back of the chair as D came back around to stand by Elizabeth's desk, "What plan are we moving to now, Vaughn?"

"Still Plan L, Colonel," D leaned a hip against the side of the desk, "I already took into account your opposition to Woolsey."

"Really?" John eyed her skeptically, "You predicted I'd get annoyed with him?"

"It seems he has that effect on most people," D shrugged, "It's been getting worse as the day goes on. I think he's getting upset because he's not getting the help or information he was expecting. After their interviews, Evan was in here threatening to slap him and Carson's face was a very interesting shade of puce," D glanced down at her watch, "If it makes you feel any better, you managed to last thirty-four minutes longer than anyone else."

"Is she being serious right now?" John his head towards Elizabeth.

"About which part?" Elizabeth asked wryly, "Because I didn't find Carson's face all that entertaining."

"And none of this worries you?" John looked back to D.

"Not after I…" D paused to make a motion towards her ear, "Earmuffs, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at D.

"It doesn't worry me after I went through his suitcase," D finished.

"What does his suitcase have to do with anything?" John wondered curiously, "And should you be saying all this with the security cameras still on?"

"Does no one read my emails?" D huffed out an annoyed breath, "I scheduled time in the plan for you and several others to come in here and settle down after your interviews. I had Radek re-program the security system in this office two weeks ago. Once the privacy mode on the windows is activated, the Earth-based surveillance system cuts out for ten minutes. And this office hasn't been wired for sound in six months."

"Shouldn't I be notified about any changes in security procedures?" John asked evenly.

"I copied both you and Major Lorne a week before the changes were made," D replied in the same tone, "Your approval signature is on the work order. It was probably in the stack of things the Major had you sign when he finally coerced you into doing your paperwork."

"Yeah, probably," John confessed, "So…Woolsey's suitcase?"

"You can tell a lot about a person by going through their personal items," D smirked, "Woolsey's toiletries were arranged according to size, as opposed to use; his socks and underwear rolled, as opposed to folded or crumpled; his clothes packed according to color and use, as opposed to the space they take up. He brought two different suits – a black one that he wore on the _Daedalus_ during the trip here and a gray one that I can only assume he intends to wear when he returns to Earth. All his black tee-shirts are brand new – never worn but washed and folded before they were packed. His one pair of tennis shoes – name brand charcoal gray walking shoes – are also brand new, but his black leather loafers – with tassels, by the way – have been re-soled at least once and are polished to a shine. He brought a brown leather-bound portfolio, as well as a pricey Montblanc pen, to hand write all his notes. He also brought a spare pair of glasses in the exact same style as the ones he's currently wearing."

John looked over to Elizabeth, who was trying her best to hold back her growing smile, and raised an eyebrow.

"I have been assured," the laughter was clear in Elizabeth's voice, despite her efforts to hide her amusement, "that Dr. Vaughn has not gone through any personal items in the senior staff member's quarters."

"I do take regular peeks into everyone's offices," D admitted shamelessly, "And into all major labs. And the infirmary."

"I guess it's a good thing I hardly ever use my office then," John drawled, "So what do Woolsey's personal items tell you about him?"

"He's meticulously organized," D explained, "Even up to the loss of efficiency. He's quite particular about his own appearance and is very much at ease in any setting requiring a suit. Wearing the Atlantis uniform has him a bit off-balance and he's compensating by being more aggressive than normal. He believes that rules and regulations are meant to be followed to the letter – which is undoubtedly one of the main reasons you dislike him – but he also understands the value of bending them occasionally. He has traditional values for a man of his age and is accustomed to a higher standard of living. He prepares for any task well in advance, including this investigation."

"That information combined with the background General O'Neill sent me," Elizabeth continued, smile shifting from amused to confident, "is why we switched to Plan L. We're going to beat him at his own game."

"What sort of game are we playing this time?" John looked between the two women.

"We've been playing mostly a defensive game up until now," Elizabeth folded her hands over the top over her desk, "because we weren't positive that this was anything other than a review. But now that Woolsey let slip that he's conducting an investigation, we're going on the offensive."

"And how exactly are you going to do that?" John's expression was slightly dubious.

"He's a lawyer and a businessman," a predatory smile spread across D's lips, "I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse."

"If we're trying to save Elizabeth's job," John asked carefully, "Shouldn't she be the one making deals?"

"Not in this scenario," D shook her head, "The IOA is unhappy because I was hired through Homeworld Security by General O'Neill without their approval. They think I'm a bad influence on Elizabeth and that I've been abusing our relationship by getting her to agree to things she wouldn't normally do."

"Which is probably true," Elizabeth interjected, "But in mostly good ways."

"Mostly," D agreed, "Added that to the fact that, as far as they know, I'm a former CIA field agent who was asked to leave the agency because of disciplinary issues, they're trying to use me as the final nail in Elizabeth's coffin."

"How so?" John wondered.

"They know I'm not above using my connections to get what I want," Elizabeth responded dryly, "We are assuming, from the nature of his questions to other members of the staff, Woolsey is going after D as well."

"You're the first person he didn't ask about the relationship between Elizabeth and I," D claimed, "I'm pretty sure he's read your psych evals and he's getting tired of not getting the information he wants, so he didn't bother to ask someone he knows isn't going to answer. Either he's gathering information for his own _personal_ use or he's trying to prove I'm manipulating Elizabeth into making bad choices."

"If Woolsey can prove to the IOA, the President, and our foreign allies that I'm making poor decisions, because of my personal investments in this expedition or otherwise," Elizabeth continued, "they'll have no choice but to replace me."

"Which is most likely why Woolsey is trying to keep relatively quiet about what he's doing here," D picked up where Elizabeth left off, "The IOA knows Elizabeth would fight for her job – and likely win – if she knows it's in jeopardy. They want her to go quietly."

"But I don't officially know my position is in jeopardy," Elizabeth smiled sharply, "Yet. However, because of the cover and persona D has adopted here, it's completely in character for her to see the writing on the wall, as it were. It's also completely understandable reaction for her to try to make a deal with Woolsey. She would want to keep her position as the right-hand to someone who's not quite as concerned with protocol as with getting things done."

"Even if something goes wrong," D added, "The target is off Elizabeth's back and onto mine. Since technically I am employed by Homeworld Command and under the direct command of General O'Neill – who would keep me here just to spite them – there's really nothing they can do to me career-wise."

"Either way," Elizabeth concluded, "Things work out in our favor."

"You're definitely a bad influence, Vaughn," John sprawled further into the chair, "You know, we haven't ever really followed protocol out here, Elizabeth. Eventually, they're going to get their way."

"Eventually, yes," D replied in a strangely distant tone, "But I have plans for that eventuality as well."

"I will be the first to admit that we don't always follow the rules and regulations," Elizabeth acknowledged, "But those protocols were created by people who've never even been off-world, much less to a different galaxy. They have no idea how things operate here in Atlantis or in the rest of the Pegasus Galaxy. And as much as they like to complain about us not following their rules, what the IOA really wants are results. Those we have delivered – whether they liked the results or not."

"You honestly think Woolsey can be convinced?" John asked thoughtfully.

"It's all about the presentation, Sheppard," D replied smoothly.

 _*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*_

John looked up from his dinner as Rodney thunked his tray down onto the table indignantly. He slid into the seat next to John, across from Ronon and Teyla, muttering under his breath as he set his tablet next to his food.

"What's the matter with you?" John asked curiously.

"Your stupid space Marines wouldn't let me onto the balcony," Rodney unwrapped his silverware, "I was going to sit out there by myself so I could work in relative quiet while I eat, but they glared at me and kept shifting their chairs around so I couldn't get past them."

"Don't take it personally," John shrugged and went back to eating, "They wouldn't let me out there either. I don't think they're letting anyone out there tonight."

"They let Miko and that weird biochemist guy walk right by," Rodney scowled, "It's a public space. They don't get to control who sits out there and who doesn't."

"Part of the plan," Ronon spoke around a mouthful of food.

"What plan?" Rodney questioned, "The latest Woolsey plan? Are we still on the letter L or did we move on to a different one?"

"D is having a…" Teyla paused to consider her words, "I believe she called it a business meeting. She is eating dinner with Woolsey on the balcony. There is a list of personnel who are not permitted to sit out there while they are together. You are both on the list."

"I understand why Rodney's on the list," John started.

"Hey!" Rodney protested.

"But why am I not allowed?" John complained, "I've been behaving myself for the last three days."

"All military personnel are excluded," Teyla explained patiently, "As well as anyone not appropriately attired and anyone who could potentially cause a disruption. The only person from our team not on the list is myself," Teyla continued when she saw the protests forming on John and Rodney's faces, "All three of you sometimes forget what is considered suitable public behavior. From what I understand of D's plan, it is imperative that this particular conversation remains undisturbed. Very little has been left to chance. They should be finished shortly. You are welcome to move to a table on the balcony at that time, if you so desire."

"I still think Red's over-reacting," Rodney rolled his eyes as he finally started eating, "So Elizabeth doesn't always follow protocols. The IOA has some ridiculous rules anyway. She pays attention to the important stuff. She's doing a great job as the leader of the expedition. Why would they want to get rid of her?"

"I think there's more going on than we know about," John responded carefully, "There's a lot of politics involved."

"This is a scientific expedition," Rodney huffed, "There shouldn't be politics involved."

"When you have as many countries as we do participating the Stargate program," John drawled, "and this expedition in particular, there's always going to be politics."

"I guess that's true," Rodney agreed reluctantly, "But I still think it's ridiculous. You'd think that with all the aliens trying to kill us, Earth would be less concerned with petty politics and more concerned with survival," Rodney gestured wildly in the air with his fork, "You know, _not_ becoming happy meals on legs. Not getting blown into tiny little pieces by technology beyond their understanding. Not spreading some deadly alien contagion on Earth that-"

Rodney stopped talking abruptly, his hand freezing in mid-air and his haw dropping open.

"Rodney, what…?" John followed Rodney's sight-line, "Oh."

Woolsey escorted D in from the balcony, her right hand resting in the crook of his left elbow. He wore a charcoal gray suit, a burnt umber polka-dot tie knotted neatly around the collar of his crisp white shirt. He carried a stack of file folders in his other hand, but his attention was focused solely on D, a faint smile on his face. D's dark burgundy hair was in carefully structured waves, swept over her left shoulder, long bangs and layers framing her face. Her wide, ash gray eyes were surrounded by full, dark lashes, encircled by shimmery champagne eye shadow and her lips, upper slightly fuller than the lower, were painted a shiny coral. She wore a short lace dress, the hem stopping two inches above her knees, with a thin silver belt around her waist. Over the dress she wore a crisp suit jacket, sleeves stopping mid forearm. Both jacket and dress were the same delicate peach color. She carried a large pale gray leather tote with short handles and her matching four inch pumps clicked quietly on the floor as they walked.

The pair stopped in front of the doorway, a sweet smile on D's face as Woolsey released her arm. She leaned closer to brush a kiss on each of Woolsey's cheeks and he blushed faintly as she stepped back again. He nodded to her a final time before he turned to leave the mess. D waited until he was out of sight before she turned, seemingly oblivious to the stares she was getting as she made her way towards the team's table. As she got closer, she made eye contact with one of the young uniformed soldiers sitting nearby, the soft smile still on her face. The red-faced man stood awkwardly, moving the only empty chair at his table over to the space between Rodney and Teyla.

"Thank you, Jeffrey," D looked up at him as she slid into the chair, setting her bag down next to her, "That was very sweet of you."

"Uh, no prob- _I mean_ , um, you're welcome, ma'am," the young man blushed even redder as he returned to his seat. He ducked his head as the others at his table started snickering before they returned to their meals.

"Rodney," the multi-squared bracelet on D's wrist and the large rectangular ring on her middle finger sparkled when she reached forward to pluck a cherry tomato form his small salad, "Close your mouth."

Rodney's cheeks pinked as his mouth snapped shut. He opened it again immediately.

"Are you wearing _diamonds_?" Rodney finally lowered his raised hand to the table.

"Yes," D popped the tomato into her mouth.

"Why the hell are you wearing all…" Rodney gestured towards D's body as she finished chewing and swallowed, "… _that_? Where the hell did you get diamonds on Atlantis?"

"I was having a business meeting," D raised an eyebrow at Rodney's critical tone, "I had to be suitably dressed. The bracelet and the ring were both gifts from a lovely Italian gentleman I know. I have a fondness for Tiffany that he likes to indulge. Samantha was kind enough to collect some of the things I left behind. She had them sent out here on one of the _Daedalus'_ supply trips but I haven't had occasion to go through them before now."

"Samantha?" Rodney's eyebrows shot up, "Are you talking about Colonel Sam Carter?"

"Yes," D answered simply.

"How-you…" Rodney spluttered, "…but-she…you-"

"How did your conversation go?" Teyla interjected.

"Remarkably well," the soft smile was back on D's face, "Richard and I had a lovely dinner."

"So he's _Richard_ now?" Rodney scowled, "I thought we didn't like him. Isn't he supposed to be the bad guy? You're conspiring with the enemy?"

"I did outline all this in my emails," D rolled her eyes, "To Dr. Dahlia Vaughn – former CIA officer from Hartford whose old money parents used their connections to bail her out of trouble all the time before their tragic deaths, leaving her their rather impressive estate – yes, he is _Richard_. And before you ask, no, I didn't lie about not remembering my name. Woolsey asked what the D stood for and I made something up to suit my cover."

"Is that true?" Rodney questioned, "About your parents and their estate and everything?"

"Depends on who you ask," D shrugged, "The story will check out, if anyone decides to confirm it."

"That's not really an answer," Rodney narrowed his eyes at her.

"I've been many people, Rodney," D leaned close and dropped her voice to a whisper, "If I told you the truth, I'd have to kill you."

"Oh, ha ha," Rodney huffed, "Very funny."

Ronon snorted, "Pretty sure she's serious."

"Did Woolsey agree to you deal?" John asked curiously.

"He will," D nodded, "When he finishes reading the files I gave him."

"Which files did you give him?" Teyla wondered, "Does he not already have access to all reports from Atlantis?"

"These are new reports," D smirked, "Facts and figures I've put together since we found out he was coming. The business side of Atlantis that no one thinks about."

D reached for another tomato from Rodney's salad.

"Get your own," Rodney slapped her hand away, "Didn't you just get done having dinner with Woolsey? Why do you always have to steal my stuff?"

"Your annoyed face amuses me," D grinned at Rodney.


	4. Support

Elizabeth looked over as John joined her on the balcony in the control room, overlooking the gate room below them. Woolsey and D stood at the bottom of the stairs, talking quietly. Woolsey wore his gray suit again, this time with a bright red tie, and D was back in her full Atlantis uniform.

"Woolsey's still here?" John asked quietly, "I thought he was leaving first thing this morning."

"We just received the last of the status reports," Elizabeth gestured to the console where Rodney was working before looking back down to the gate room, "As soon as Rodney finishes the data compression, we'll dial Earth and Mr. Woolsey will be on his way home."

"Did he tell you anything about his report?" John wondered.

"Other than the fact that he was finished with it, no," Elizabeth shook her head, "But I think D's trying to find out what he wrote now."

"And how's that going?" John looked down to see D reach up to squeeze Woolsey's bicep, a brilliant smile spreading across her face, "Never mind," John snorted, "Pretty sure that answers my question."

"All set, Elizabeth," Rodney finished typing and stood, "The file's ready for transmission to Earth."

"Let's see Mr. Woolsey off then, shall we?" Elizabeth started moving towards the stairs, "Dial Earth, Chuck."

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck nodded.

The Stargate began dialing and as Elizabeth, John, and Rodney reached the bottom of the stairs, it sprang to life.

"Dr. Weir," Woolsey stepped away from D to hold out a hand to Elizabeth.

"Mr. Woolsey," Elizabeth shook his hand briefly, "I hope you've enjoyed your stay here."

"It wasn't quite what I expected," Woolsey admitted, "But I must say, I've been impressed by what I've seen here. I almost envy you your command."

"I've been fortunate to have the continued support of the President and our foreign allies," Elizabeth smiled politely, "As well as having some truly amazing people on my staff. Without them, there would be no expedition. It hasn't all been beautiful architecture and ocean views. There have been setbacks and losses. It's been difficult."

"Hence the 'almost'," Woolsey returned the polite smile, "My report will reflect both the good and the bad."

"How long do you think it will take the IOA to review your report?" Elizabeth asked carefully.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Woolsey walked over to grab the handle of his suitcase, "It's my considered opinion that you're doing a fine job as the leader of this expedition. I believe that, for now, you should continue to do that job."

"Thank you, Mr. Woolsey," Elizabeth inclined her head slightly, "I appreciate your support as well."

"They're ready for you, sir," Chuck called from the balcony.

"Richard," D stepped forward, laying her hands over Woolsey's arms as she leaned up to brush a kiss over each of his cheeks, "It was lovely to meet you."

"The pleasure was all mine, Dahlia," Woolsey flushed pink as D stepped back again, "I look forward to hearing from you. Perhaps next time you're on Earth, we could have dinner. There's a lovely French restaurant near my office that I think you would enjoy."

"I'd like that," D smiled warmly, "Though I'm not sure when the next time will be. They like to keep me busy here."

"Of course," Woolsey nodded towards John and Rodney, "Gentleman."

Woolsey pulled his suitcase behind him as he stepped through the gate and Elizabeth let out a quiet breath.

"That was…" Elizabeth paused, "Easier than I expected, honestly. He took the deal?"

"He did," D smirked, "I don't think you'll have any further difficulties with the IOA, ma'am."

"Just like that?" John raised an eyebrow, "No more plotting or planning?"

"There is some additional work on my part involved," D shrugged, "But, yes, just like that."

"If all it took was some flirting and a short skirt," Rodney scowled, "Why didn't you just do that in the first place?"

"I wasn't flirting, Rodney," D rolled her eyes, "I was charming him. There is a difference. And technically, it was a dress, not a skirt, and it wasn't even that short."

"Whatever you call it," Rodney flapped a hand at her, "Why did we have to bother fixing everything up and cleaning everything and making sure everyone was dressed properly and all that other crap? You could've had dinner with him the first night and we wouldn't have wasted all that time."

" _Кто-нибудь потрудился прочитать мои электронные письма_?" D glared at John and Rodney. [Russian: Does anyone bother to read my emails?]

"To be fair," Elizabeth bit back a smile, "The email detailing all the different plans was rather long. You highlighted the sections pertaining to each department. They probably didn't read any more than they needed to."

"Each plan built on the previous one," D explained with a sigh, "We knew coming into this that the IOA was upset about Elizabeth not following their regulations. We had to show Woolsey that we _could_ follow the rules before I could convince him that they could be broken. I asked Teyla to greet him and take him on a tour so he would have to follow our time-table instead of his own and to keep him uncomfortable."

"And to go through his stuff," John snorted.

"And to go through his stuff," D agreed, "so I could further the profile I was building on him. Once it was confirmed that he was doing an investigation instead of a review, I knew showing him we could follow rules for a short time wouldn't be enough. I invited him to dinner, dressed in a dress and heels, and did my best to be charming while I laid out the deal for him. Nearly every plan was designed to keep him off-balance the entire time he was here, but plans K and L more so than any of them. Woolsey is a smart man. If we had let him concentrate fully on what was going on here, he would've figured out what we were doing and likely would've gotten what he wanted to not only get rid of Elizabeth but the rest of us as well."

"So…you convinced Woolsey to break the rules," Rodney asked skeptically, "Just by…what, making him nervous?"

"I was going for flattered," D responded easily.

"That's not an answer," Rodney pointed out.

"I think break is too strong a word," D hedged, "I'd say…bend on occasion."

"You're doing that thing again," Rodney gave D an irritated look.

"What thing?" D wondered, "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"That thing you do," Rodney glared, "where you know exactly what I'm asking but you give me some vague nonsense instead of a real answer because you enjoy annoying me."

"Am I?" D blinked innocently up at Rodney, "That doesn't sound like something I would do."

"D," Elizabeth admonished, "Stop teasing him."

"If you insist, ma'am," D grinned, "I did a cost/benefit analysis for each incident of Elizabeth not following regulations. Each file I gave Woolsey contained two different scenarios: what it would've cost if she followed the rules and what it cost when she didn't. I highly doubt the results were what the IOA were expecting. With very few exceptions, the actions that Elizabeth took actually ended up costing the IOA less in the long run, both in resources and personnel. They assumed she was making decisions for personal reasons. I convinced Woolsey she was acting with the IOA's best interests in mind."

"But," Rodney looked from D to Elizabeth, "You weren't, were you? Thinking about the IOA when you made your decisions, I mean."

"Rarely," Elizabeth shook her head, "But they don't want to know that."

"They don't really _want_ to know that," D continued, "As Richard told me before he left; in his business, sometimes it's more important not to let inconvenient facts get in the way of the greater truth. The greater truth here is the Atlantis expedition is better with Elizabeth as leader. As long as the benefits continue to outweigh the costs, the IOA won't mind her bending a few rules."

"And when the IOA doesn't benefit anymore?" Rodney snarked, "Wait, let me guess – you have a plan for that."

"Plan double F," D smirked, "In which things around here become a lot more, and at the same time, at lot less complicated."

"I don't even want to know," Rodney rolled his eyes.

"So…" John looked at D curiously, "What was the deal? Giving him the analyses was decision making tool for him, not anything he had to agree to," John's gaze sharpened as he studied D's smug expression, "He said he was looking forward to hearing from you. That wasn't personal, it was business. What did you do?"

"In exchange for a guarantee that I retain my current position," a slow smile spread across D's lips, "I agreed to provide the IOA with weekly intelligence reports. I'm supposed to be detailing all those little things that happen in Atlantis that don't quite make it into official reports. I'm also supposed to provide additional security assessments for any potential threats to Earth and in turn the IOA."

"You're going to spy for the IOA?" Rodney's jaw dropped.

"Yup," D looked over as the Stargate finally switched off.

"Very Machiavellian of you, Vaughn," John drawled, "Well played."

"I thought so," Elizabeth grinned proudly, "Though I wasn't as sure it was going to work as she was."

"You not only ensured your position indefinitely," John smirked and shook his head, "But Elizabeth's too."

"How can being an IOA spy possibly be a good idea?" Rodney frowned in confusion.

"Information is power, Rodney," D explained, "After finishing his interviews and reading the files I gave him, Woolsey realized there was no way the President and our foreign allies would agree to getting rid of Elizabeth. I made it seem like I would be willing to provide the leverage the IOA needs to oust Elizabeth in exchange for my own job security – making Woolsey and the IOA think they're in control. They haven't realized yet that they have absolutely no say in where I'm stationed. Short of withdrawing the entire expedition or a forced extraction by a heavily armed Special Forces team, there's no way for them to make me leave Atlantis. By agreeing to provide them with intel, I've actually taken what little power they had away. Now, I control the flow of information. I get instructions directly from them, then I use my supposed influence over Elizabeth to make sure certain things get done. More importantly, however, I can make sure they find out only what they need to know to make the decisions we need them to make. Eventually, someone will realize that I'm not really on their side, but until then, the IOA is basically under Elizabeth's control."

"You mean your control," Rodney corrected.

"No, I mean Elizabeth's," D disagreed, "I only follow one person's orders. Hers."

"If you say so…" a wary expression came over Rodney's face, "I'm impressed…and mildly terrified. You're an incredibly devious person, Red."

"Thanks, Rodney," D beamed a happy smile at him.

"That wasn't meant to be a compliment, idiot," Rodney snorted, "At least things can get back to normal around here."

"Officer Vaughn?" Chuck called down from the balcony.

"Or not," D tilted her head to the side, "What's the problem, Sergeant?"

"We received word from Stargate Command," Chuck shifted on his feet, "The _Odyssey_ is leaving Earth's orbit within the hour. It'll be here in sixteen days. SG-1 is coming to Atlantis. Dr. Jackson will be searching the Ancient database for any references to the Sangraal. Colonel Carter has requested that Dr. McKay consult on a plan to neutralize the Ori Supergate. There's a report for Dr. Weir to read as soon as the file's decompressed."

"I don't see a problem there, Chuck," D raised an eyebrow, "What has you all flustered?"

"General O'Neill will be accompanying them," Chuck cleared his throat, "He asked me to relay a message, ma'am. His exact words were 'Ask her if she really thought I wouldn't find out. Tell D she's been a very naughty girl and I'm coming there to talk to her. In person.' Then he made a weird face. The kind my mother used to make before she grounded me for three months."

"Thank you, Sergeant," a blank expression settled onto D's face as Chuck went back to his console.

"Find out about what?" Elizabeth asked carefully.

"I don't know, ma'am," D responded blankly, "I've kept him updated about nearly everything, including what happened with Michael and the current situation with the IOA. I'm not sure why he would be upset about either of those things. Especially to the point that he would need to come here to talk to me about it."

" _Qu'en est-il avant de quitter_?" Elizabeth questioned. [French: What about before you left?]

" _Il a reçu le même fichier que vous avez fait, madame_ ," D glanced over to where John and Rodney were listening curiously, " _Sauf qu'il a attendu jusqu'à récemment pour enfin lire l'intégralité de celui-ci et il a changé d'avis à propos de notre accord. Dans ce cas, il vient ici pour me rappeler_." [French: He received the same file you did, ma'am.] [French: Unless he waited until recently to finally read the entirety of it and he's changed his mind about our agreement. In which case, he's coming here to recall me.]

"You know I wouldn't let him do that," Elizabeth reached over to brush a hand down D's arm, "Not without a fight."

"You may not have a say in the matter, ma'am," D took a deliberate step away from the group, "If the General withdraws his support, your position could be in jeopardy. You will have very few choices at that point. In all the best options, _ego evanesco_." [Latin: I disappear.]

"D," Elizabeth stepped towards her, "There are alw-"

"Dr. Weir," D took another step back to maintain the distance between them, "Everyone just spent a great deal of time and effort ensuring you retain leadership of Atlantis. I am going to ask that you do not do anything to undermine those endeavors. This City – what can be accomplished here with you as leader – is far more important than any…personal issues I may experience returning to Earth. Please respect the choice I am making here."

"Even if it's the wrong choice?" Elizabeth spoke softly, "You don't know what's going to happen when General O'Neill gets here. He could just be-"

"Ma'am," D cut her off again, "There are only three reasons for him to come here in person. All three scenarios end the same way," D looked down at her watch, "If you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

D turned and went up the stairs silently, stopping only long enough to grab a tablet form Chuck before she continued up the stairs behind him.

"I don't understand," the confused frown was back on Rodney's face, "What does O'Neill coming to Atlantis to talk to Red have to do with Elizabeth being the leader of the expedition?"

"She thinks he's coming here to take her back to Earth," Elizabeth rubbed a hand over her forehead, "And she thinks that I interfere, if I try to keep her here, that it will cost me my job."

"Would it?" John asked evenly.

"It likely would, yes," Elizabeth let out a frustrated sigh and dropped her hand back to her side.

"Rodney," John glanced over to him, "Why don't you go grab us a table for lunch? I'll meet you there in a couple minutes."

"No. You're just trying to get rid of me," Rodney scowled as he looked between John and Elizabeth, "What's going on? What don't I know? Why does it matter if Red goes back to Earth? You're acting like it's more dangerous for her there than it is here."

"McKay, _go_ ," John ordered firmly.

"Fine," Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, "But I'm not going to let this go. I'm going to keep asking ad sooner or later, I'm going to figure it out," Rodney glared at each of them a final time before he huffed and turned to leave, "Probably sooner, me being a genius and all."

Elizabeth waited until Rodney was around the corner before she stepped close to John and lowered her voice to a whisper, "She can't go back, John. I won't let them take her back to Earth."

"You really think there are people still looking for her?" John questioned softly.

"As long as she's alive," Elizabeth insisted, "There will always be people after her."

"Because she's that good at her job?" John studied Elizabeth's face, "Or because of the things she's done?"

"Both," Elizabeth let out a short, bitter laugh, "And neither. Either way, any extended amount of time on Earth is basically a death sentence for her. Or worse. Which she knows. But she's not going to fight back because of what it could do to me."

"How long a reach?" John cocked his head to the side.

"What?" Elizabeth looked up at John curiously.

"After Doranda," John reminded her, "You said the people after her have a very long reach. How long?"

"What are you thinking?" Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

"Vaughn's not the only one who can make plans, Elizabeth," John drawled, "There's lots of ways for a person to disappear in the Pegasus Galaxy."


	5. Alive

**Here, have some dubious sci-fi science.**

* * *

"I don't get it," Ronon stared at the large hanging screen.

"This…" Teyla looked from the screen to Rodney, "…Guide? Why do your people not all carry one?"

"Yeah," Ronon tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth, "And a towel."

"Yes," Teyla agreed, "If towels are so important and so useful in your galaxy, why are they used merely for drying here on Atlantis?"

"No, you see, it's not-" Rodney started.

He was interrupted by the door to Teyla's room opening with a loud whoosh. D rushed in, clutching a tablet between her hands, Nemesis following silently behind. D was wearing an oversized black sweatshirt and a pair of black cotton leggings, heavy black socks pulled up past her ankles. Her hair was in a thick, messy braid over one shoulder, various pieces falling loose around her face. She blew her bangs out of her face, revealing faint dark circles under her eyes.

"The AI," D's intense gaze immediately narrowed in on John, "In the chair in Antarctica. Was it fully functional?"

"What are you talking about?" John twisted to look over the back of the couch.

"Was it fully functional?" D released one hand from the tablet to wave it wildly in John's direction, "When you sat down the first time…did it…was it like the AI here?"

"Yes, it was functional," John looked at D curiously, "But it wasn't like Atlantis. She's more complex."

" _It_ ," D's expression sharpened and the door slid shut behind her, the locks engaging with a quiet click, "Not _she_."

"Well…" John shrugged, "Yeah, _it_ , not she."

D looked back down to the tablet and began muttering rapidly under her breath in several different languages. Nemesis whined petulantly and smacked D in the ankle with her tail before she padded around the couch to plop down on the floor next to Ronon.

"Is something wrong, _kaina_?" Teyla stood from her chair, "You seem…distressed."

" _Zhè shì yīgè bìngdú_ ," D rambled softly, " _Huòzhě lèisì de bìngdú. Tā bìxū shì. Zhè shì suǒyǒu de zuòpǐn shìhé de wéiyī tújìng_." [Chinese: It's a virus.] [Chinese: Or something like a virus. It has to be. That's the only way all the pieces fit.]

"We have not seen you outside of work for nearly two weeks now," Teyla moved around the couch and set her hand gently on D's arm, "How long has it been since you slept?"

"Eighty-one hours, fifty-two minutes, thirteen seconds. I figured it out," D's eyes widened as she looked form the tablet to Rodney, "The pattern. I figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Rodney asked warily.

" _Zhè shì yīgè bìngdú_ ," D repeated impatiently.

When Rodney only stared at her in response, she growled lowly and took several large steps over to where his laptop was sitting on the small end table next to him. She yanked the cable from the back of it, ignoring Rodney's loud protest as she jammed the cable into her tablet. Teyla sighed and settled back into her chair as D started tapping the tablet's screen rapidly. A set of schematics with lines of Ancient symbols scrolling in wide column down one side appeared on the hanging screen. D dropped the tablet on top of the laptop and reached over to jerk Rodney to his feet, moving both of them closer to the screen. She started speaking in rapid Mandarin, only releasing Rodney to gesture wildly towards the screen.

"Stop," Rodney slapped a hand over D's mouth and she continued to mumble, "You're speaking too fast and in a language I don't understand. Stop!" D finally stopped speaking to glare at him. He dropped his hand, "If you want me to get what you're saying, tell me _in English_."

D made a frustrated noise then started again as Rodney turned back to the images on the screen.

"There are no missing pieces," the concentration was visible on D's face, "When I sat down in the chair and felt the AI, there were things that I thought should be there that weren't there. I assumed they were missing. They were never there to begin with. That's why the program is spread out in so many different places. It was never meant to be this big. It's been…" D paused and blew out an irritated breath, "…altered? This would be so much easier if you spoke Mandarin. I worked it out in Chinese and it doesn't translate well."

"The AI's been altered?" Rodney questioned, his full attention snapping back to D, "What do you mean altered? Altered by who? Altered how?"

"It's been growing at an exponential rate, ever since the ZPM was plugged in," D explained quickly, "The Ancients left the AI program to run Atlantis when they abandoned it. The AI ran only the most basic of functions while the City sleeping. More importantly though, Sheppard didn't turn the program off when he got here," an excited smile began growing on D's face, "The program was active the entire time the other Elizabeth was in the stasis pod. The AI here probably started out like the one on Earth, as a basic interface, but then it spent two thousand years learning from Elizabeth. She infected it, mutated it, like a virus. Elizabeth gave it a personality, made it into something it was never meant to be. Her mind was plugged into the system while the City sat, nearly idle, at the bottom of the ocean. In her loneliness, her mind sought our companionship and found the AI program. She told the City all about the people she lost in the other timeline. That's why Atlantis opened like a whore's legs when Sheppard stepped through the gate," D glanced over to John, "She was _expecting_ him. She'd been waiting for him for ten millennia. She was supposed to hand over control to the gene-bearers when you all got here, but no one knew that. She couldn't make herself understood. So she kept doing as she was programmed, protecting the City and serving the needs of her inhabitants as best she could. She didn't have enough energy to continue growing any further until _you_ ," D poked Rodney in the chest, "plugged in the ZPM. You gave her the power she needed to expand into something more. Sheppard was the first one to fully activate the control chair – her main interface. He was expecting the AI, so it didn't occur to him to turn it off. This City is a ship, like the jumpers. The AI here is supposed to function in essentially the same way. It's supposed to take an initial neural imprint of its 'pilot', for lack of a better word, to improve user interface, then shut down. The jumpers do it automatically because their systems are so small only a perfunctory surface scan is necessary. Atlantis is so much more complex though. She can retain dozens, maybe hundreds, of in-depth scans and compile all of them into a singular program. She needs someone to tell her to stop. _But no one did_. So it- _she's_ still scanning us, still learning from us. Her program has grown so far beyond the original design that the crystals that used to house it are no longer adequate storage. She's been expanding into whatever systems she can, whichever crystals she can access, wherever she needs to."

"That's…hmm…" Rodney's expression turned calculating, "Your theory makes sense but…where's your evidence?"

"The pattern of her growth," D pointed towards the screen, then turned to pick up her tablet again, tapping twice to bring up a multi-colored image of Atlantis, "These are all the crystals we've found so far that house parts of her programming. Look at where they are. They're all in areas where the people with the highest concentration of the ATA gene – the ones we've put in the chair – can be found most often," D tapped again and all the colors except a moss green faded, "The green is for Sheppard. You can see it covers nearly 50% of the crystals," D tapped and one area darkened, "These crystals here house the main portion of the location subroutines. According to the decay rate on the crystals, that subroutine was added about two hours after the ZPM was plugged in. The Colonel needed to know where all his people were, if they were safe or not, so she gave him a way to do that," D tapped again and crimson was added to the moss, "I reinforced the location subroutines – because I thought they were standard function of the City – but I also added the classification subroutines. I separate people into categories in a way the Sheppard doesn't and Atlantis adopted that way of thinking from me. The privacy subroutines came from me too. There was no privacy mode in Elizabeth's office, or any of the windows, until I asked for it," D tapped again and azure blue was added, "Extra security routines were added to all the areas housing hazardous materials and weapons, but only _after_ Evan sat in the chair. The subroutine is housed under his office," D tapped the tablet once and a light mauve appeared, "Carson," another tap and sunflower yellow, "Miko," another tap and bright cobalt blue, "and you Rodney," a final tap and the map went back to the original rainbow hued image, "The first time she purposely sent a signal to someone," D dropped the tablet back on the table, "The command originated from crystals directly connected to the infirmary's systems. She _learned_ concern from Carson. Why, out of all the people she could've contacted in the City, did she send _you_ when I was sitting on the pier?"

"Because…" Rodney responded carefully, "I was the only one talking to you at the time."

"Because _she knew_ you were probably the only person I wouldn't immediately drop-kick off the pier for bothering me that night," D corrected as she moved back to Rodney's side, "And _she knew_ that you wouldn't feel pity or empathize or anything ridiculous like that. She knows all this stuff because every time one of us sits in the chair, she takes another neural imprint. We've been trying so hard to figure out the pattern to her growth, sticking as many people as we can in the chair to catalogue the differences. She's getting stronger _because_ of what we're doing. Each person adds another layer – another imprint to expand the program."

"The program is spreading like," Rodney turned to study the screen, "white blood cells to infected areas. Creating anti-bodies according to our needs. She's adapting."

"Exactly," D smiled brilliantly at Rodney.

"What about the different senses?" Rodney wondered, "How does that fit in? Is it some sort of glitch? Are we all supposed to be experiencing Ancient tech the same way?"

"No. At least," D tilted her head to the side, "I don't think so? I mean, I'm obviously not a neuroscientist, but I think it has more to do with perception than any deliberate choice on Atlantis' part. No two people perceive things exactly the same way. Everyone relies on their sense differently."

"That's true," Rodney agreed absently, "It's only logical that fact would carry over into our perception of Ancient technology."

"The same thing happened- _is_ happening with the _Orion_ ," D added, "We connected her to the Atlantis systems when we were repairing her and she was infected too. Evan initialized the ship's computer expecting the AI to be there and hasn't shut it off, so she's still growing too. Both systems are anticipating what we want now, adjusting to what we need before we know we need it. They're learning, growing, expanding. This is why I couldn't see the pattern before. I was looking in the wrong place. The pattern wasn't in the systems, Rodney. It was in the people."

"You figured it out," Rodney's voice was quietly stunned as he turned to stare at D slack-jawed, " _How_?"

"Do not act on the thought that just went through your mind, Dr. McKay," D took a cautious step back, "Because if you do, I'm likely going to slap you."

"What?" confusion replaced the awe on Rodney's face, "What thought?"

"Never mind," D eyed him warily, "I was going over my previous reports, trying to figure out what Jack's upset about, when the thing about Elizabeth came to me. She made the AI into something it was never meant to be."

"How are those two things related?" Rodney's face scrunched up, "That doesn't make any sense."

" _Fecit idem mihi_ ," D shook her head, "It doesn't matter. The point is: now that you have a basic idea of how it works, you can figure out all the technical and engineering details." [Latin: She did the same to me.]

"This is…" Rodney sat back in his spot on the couch and picked up the tablet, already scrolling through the data, "I mean…I can't believe…It's so _simple_."

"Relatively," D grinned and bounced on her toes, "The original coding for the program has got to be the most complex design I've ever encountered, but the idea behind her expansion is easy enough."

"Why didn't I see it?" Rodney frowned at the tablet.

"We were all looking in the wrong place," D reminded him, "If I hadn't read every single report to ever be generated the Atlantis staff and had a lucky stray thought, I wouldn't have picked up on it either."

"So do I need to turn the AI off?" John asked curiously.

" _WHAT_?" Rodney looked at John incredulously, "NO! Why would you turn it off? Weren't you paying attention?"

"Vaughn said-" John started.

"You can't just _kill her_ like that!" Rodney insisted hotly, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"I was paying attention," John replied patiently, "Vaughn said there was a virus – that the AI is doing things she's not supposed to be. Wouldn't it be better to turn it off?"

"You-" Rodney's face reddened, his mouth opening and closing several times in rapid succession, angry incoherent noises coming out.

"Calm down, Rodney," D commanded easily, "Before you give yourself an aneurysm. He doesn't understand."

"Then someone explain it," John demanded, "In a way I _can_ understand."

"Setting aside the fact," Rodney glared at John, "that it you turn the program off, the chances of us figuring it out are reduced to almost zero – what Red is saying is…Atlantis sort of…it's…she's-"

"Elizabeth impregnated Atlantis' AI program," D interrupted bluntly, "You gave birth to Rosie and Rodney served as her wet-nurse. The rest of the gene-bearers have been raising her as our daughter. She was never meant to be alive, but she is. She has gained sentience and is growing rapidly. The circumstances that led to her conception are extremely improbable and nearly impossible to duplicate. If you turn off the program now, you will destroy the single greatest technological discovery of our time. It's the equivalent of killing a toddler because she learned Portuguese while you were teaching her Spanish."

"Disturbing analogies aside," Rodney gave D an uneasy look, "Red's right. Rosie may have start out as a malfunction, a mistake, but she's more than that now. We are responsible for her program expanding beyond its original scope. We made the City like this. As long as she's not harmful, there is absolutely no reason to shut the program down."

"And the chances of her turning harmful?" John asked cautiously.

"Extremely slim," D answered, "At its core, the AI is designed to protect the City and the inhabitants. There are many qualities and personality traits she could've added to her subroutines, but she's only chosen ones that safeguard the people here."

"Leaving the program running still has the potential for problems," Teyla said shrewdly, "From what I have understood of this conversation, if the IOA were ever to find out, they would immediately order the program shut down. If they believe they are not in control of Atlantis-"

"They'll do whatever it takes to get control back," D looked over to Rodney, "They could order the entire City dismantled in order to figure out how it works – how to control her. If the wrong people find out about this, the consequences would be-"

"Disastrous, yeah," Rodney winced, "That's going to make this a lot harder. I'm not going to be able to figure this out by myself, even with a basic outline to work from. It'd take years. A lifetime."

"I can give you a list of reliable people to help," the excited grin faded from D's face, replaced by a blank expression, "You can keep that tablet with all the preliminary data on it."

"You're not going to help? Why?" Rodney questioned, "You're the one who figured out what was happening. This is Nobel Prize level work here. I mean, when they eventually declassify the program and when we don't have the IOA to worry about, but still, I'm probably going to need your weird insights."

"Then I'll say congratulations on your success now, Dr. McKay," D began moving towards the door, "I'm not going to be around to help but I'm sure you'll learn to get along without me."

"What does that mean?" Rodney frowned, "Why aren't you going to be around?"

"I apologize for barging in without knocking, Teyla," D stopped in front of the door, "I'm afraid I have to ask a favor of you and Ronon. Would you mind keeping Nemesis for the next three days? I made the mistake of having unnecessary items shipped out here and I have a lot of packing to do. She keeps taking things from the cases and trying to hide them from me."

"Nemesis is always welcome here," Teyla looked over to where Ronon was sneaking the large gray cat pieces of popcorn, "As are you. I was unaware you had more information on the reason for General O'Neill's visit. Perhaps you are being premature in packing away your things."

"I doubt that," D waved a hand over the control panel to disengage the locks and the door slid open, "Enjoy the rest of your movie and, again, apologies for the intrusion."

After the door slid shut behind D, Teyla turned to John.

"You have not told her," Teyla raised an eyebrow at him.

"I haven't," John held her stare, "I figured it's better for everyone if she doesn't know."

"Know what?" Rodney looked between the two of them, "Told Red what?"

"She knows a lot of things," Ronon scratched behind one of Nemesis' ears, "She's gonna find out and she's gonna be pissed at you."

"Probably," John shrugged, "But I'm not really worried about that now."

"Wait," Rodney stared at John, "Is this why you asked me if there was a way to reprogram the DHD to send someone to a different planet than what was dialed?"

"It's better if I don't tell you, Rodney," John drawled, "Plausible deniability. Put the movie back on."


	6. Who are you?

"Rodney," D waved her hand in front of his laptop screen.

"Hey!" Rodney protested, shoving her hand out of the way, "I'm busy. Go away."

"The _Odyssey_ is here," D informed him, "You're supposed to be in the conference room in two minutes for a briefing with SG-1. They're already there waiting for you."

"Really?" Rodney frowned down at his watch, "They're here already?"

"Yes, Rodney," D sighed as she tapped a couple keys on his laptop and closed the lid, "The ship arrived exactly as it was scheduled. They're unloading our supplies now. I've saved your progress," she wrapped a hand tightly around his elbow and tugged him up from the stool, "Everything will be here when you get back."

"All right, fine," Rodney huffed and pulled his arm from D's grasp, "I'm coming. Stop man-handling me."

"I'm not man-handling you, jackass," D rolled her eyes as they left Rodney's lab, "You've barely come out of your lab the last three days. I'm only making sure you get to the meeting on time."

"I've been working on the," Rodney lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper, " _you-know-what_."

"I know," D reached back to pull on Rodney's arm to make him walk faster, "That's why someone's been bringing you food several times a day, why Miko comes to your lab at 2200 every night to make sure you go to bed, and why Norina cleans your lab at 2215 every night. I assumed once I told you about the pattern you'd want to start working on confirmation as soon as possible. I figured you'd be too wrapped up in your work to remember to take proper care of yourself."

"Oh," Rodney pulled his arm from her grip again, "I hadn't really noticed. I mean, I noticed that Miko's been coming into my lab every night to bother me and I guess I always leave shortly after she shows up. And I suppose the food was always just kind of there when I got hungry. And my lab's always clean when I get there in the morning. But I didn't really, you know, _realize_. Thanks, I guess?"

"Norina's job as your assistant includes baby-sitting you when you get lost in a science spiral," D shrugged, "and Miko still has a little bit of a crush on you. The only thing I did was mention to them that you'd be preoccupied the next few days. They took care of the rest themselves. If you want to thank someone, talk to them."

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to-" Rodney stopped walking to frown at D, "Lost in a science spiral?"

"Yes," D reached back to grab his elbow and started him moving again, "You get so absorbed in whatever science you're working on that you lose track of your surroundings. It's difficult to get your attention when you get like that. I decided 'lost in a science spiral' was a politer phrase than 'zoned out on science to the point of complete obliviousness'."

"You're awfully grabby this morning," Rodney pulled his arm from D's grip as they stepped into a transporter, the door sliding shut behind them.

"Sorry," D winced and closed her eyes. She reached up to rub her fingers over her temples, "I haven't slept this week and I'm having trouble adjusting my hearing. Rosie's been giving me feedback since the _Odyssey_ arrived. I'm actually getting a massive migraine for the first time in over a decade because of it."

"Feedback?" Rodney asked uneasily, "What kind of feedback? Like when Woolsey was here and she decided she didn't like him? Maybe she's freaking out about General O'Neill being here. Like you."

"No, it's not that," D opened her eyes, "His gene is almost as strong as Sheppard's so Rosie likes him for the moment. And I am not freaking out. I haven't even talked to him yet. Elizabeth sent me to fetch you before he got to her office. I assume so she could do something ridiculous in spite of my request. Which also explains why Sheppard has been plotting with Ronon and Teyla for the last two weeks. None of which is relevant to the question you asked," D winced again, "Sorry. The feedback is like…" D shifted one hand to gesture in a vague circle by her ear, "…a weird echo. Except it's somehow vibrating at the same frequency and a harmonic frequency," D resumed rubbing her temples, "It's difficult to explain. I'd normally filter something like this out but, like I said, I haven't slept this week."

"Maybe you should go to the infirmary," Rodney scowled as D's fingers pressed harder against her head at the last word, "I'm sure Carson can give you something to help you sleep. And something for your headache. Something other than using your fingernails to dig into your brain," he reached up to pull her hands back down to her sides, "Will you quit? You've already got red marks, idiot. If it's that bad, go to the infirmary. I'm sure we'll survive one meeting without you."

"I'm fine," D flinched and stepped away.

"You don't look fine," Rodney eyed D cautiously, "I haven't noticed anything unusual in Rosie's programming the last couple of days, but I'll look again as soon as we're done with the meeting."

"I'm pretty sure you're going to be busy and I said I was fine. If it was something serious, she'd be giving you feedback too," D reached over to tap the screen, "She knows you're the one who fixes things."

Rodney's frown deepened as the white light from the transporter washed over them.

D started to grab Rodney's elbow again as the doors slid open, but stopped herself with a wince.

"Are you going to behave yourself during the meeting?" D followed Rodney from the transporter.

"Behave myself?" Rodney repeated, "What does that even mean?"

"It means you try to show off in front of people you are attracted to," D explained evenly.

"What?" Rodney's cheeks flushed, "I don't-what-there isn't…I do not _show off_."

"Yes, you do," D insisted, "You puffed up like a peacock in front of Norina until you finally realized she was more interested in learning about Ancient tech than dating you."

"I did?" Rodney asked warily.

"You did," D nodded, "It was wonderfully entertaining – cute even, in a horribly awkward kind of way. Watching you flirt is like…a terrible car accident that you just can't look away from."

"I hate you," Rodney declared, "So much."

"No, you don't," D rolled her eyes, "So are you going to behave like the intelligent human being I know you are or am I going to have to endure another round of horny adolescent flirting?"

"I think there was a compliment in there somewhere," Rodney snorted, "I don't know why you think I'm going to behave any differently in this meeting than I normally would."

"Two words, Rodney," D lowered her voice as they came into the gate room, "Leggy blonde."

"Yup, definitely hate you," Rodney grumbled, "You're, like, the worst friend ever."

"Yeah," D answered absently, looking up to the clouded glass windows of Elizabeth's office, "Probably."

"Hey," Rodney put a hand over D's forearm, stopping both of them at the bottom of the stairs, "Listen. You're…that is to say-I mean…"

D looked down at the hand on her arm then back up to Rodney's face, "Are you trying to be nice again?"

"No," D raised an eyebrow and Rodney blew out an annoyed breath as he continued, "Maybe. Just…shut up and listen. You're doing a good job here. I think. I'm still not entirely sure what your job entails, other than being bossy and knowing everything all the time. Whatever the General wants to talk to you about, it can't be that bad. Even if it was, there are obviously people here who would help – like you help us all the time. So just…take a breath and relax."

"It actually can be that bad," D's shoulders slumped forward, "And I don't want help."

"Red," Rodney sighed heavily, "Try to behave like the rational, logical human being I know you are, okay?"

"I think there was a compliment in there somewhere," D smiled softly, "Thanks, Rodney. But…no more being nice. It freaks me out."

"Fine," Rodney rolled his eyes dramatically, "You're a giant idiot who's overreacting to the point you gave yourself a migraine. Better?"

"Yes," D leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, "Much."

"Aren't they adorable?" John drawled.

"Yup," an amused growl agreed, "Adorable."

Before Rodney could blink, D was two steps away from him – her gun drawn and aimed in a steady two-handed grip at the voice – every muscle in her body tensed.

"Mikha'el," D breathed out the word.

Rodney turned to see a man with jaw-length straight brunette hair and a lightly stubbled jawline standing next to John at the top of the stairs. The man was dressed in a simple black tee shirt and black BDU pants with black combat boots laced tightly over the bottoms. He wore a black leather shoulder holster containing three silver knives and instead of a gun in the holster strapped around his right thigh, he had another set of silver knives. His right hand twitched towards the knives on his leg and Rodney noticed he was wearing short, fingerless black leather gloves.

"Azrael," the man's cool, steel-blue eyes focused on D.

"You try going for those knives," D replied coolly, "And I'll put a bullet in your heart."

The man raised his hands out in front of him slowly.

"You really gonna shoot me?" the man's voice was a low growl laced with a hint of a Southern drawl.

"I haven't decided yet," D spoke evenly, "Who are you now?"

"Me," the man answered calmly, "Eliot Spencer. US Army. Retired. Who're you?"

"Me," D responded, "Sort of. CIA Operations Officer D Vaughn. Semi-retired. PhD."

"You decide yet?" Eliot made a slight gesture with one finger towards her gun.

"I'm not going to shoot you," D holstered the gun swiftly, "Right now. I reserve the right to change my mind later."

"I'll keep that in mind," Eliot lowered his hands back to his sides.

"So…" John looked between the two of them, "I take it you two know each other?"

"Depends on who you ask," Eliot shrugged.

"Oh my god," Rodney turned back to D with a faintly horrified expression, "There are _two of you_?"

"I see the General didn't tell you I was coming," Eliot let out a grumbling sigh, "I told him you don't like surprises."

"No, he didn't," D took the steps two at a time, "And, no, I don't," she wrapped a hand around Eliot's wrist and dragged him towards the balcony door, "Don't worry about the feedback, Dr. McKay. I've figured it out."

The door slid shut behind the pair and Rodney came up the steps to stand by John.

"What feedback?" John asked curiously.

"I guess Red is having hearing issues or something this morning," Rodney watched as D and Eliot started arguing, "She thought Rosie was giving her feedback since the _Odyssey_ got here, but I guess it was that guy. You know who he is?"

"Not really. The General asked me to baby-sit him until Vaughn got here so he could talk to Elizabeth in private," John cocked his head to the side as Eliot pulled a set of dog tags on a slim chain from his pocket and tossed them to D, "Told me Spencer's allowed to wear his weapons while he's here and not to let him touch anything."

"Why's he not allowed to touch anything?" Rodney scowled as D paled and her hand tightened around the metal tags, "And who the hell wears that many knives? Besides Ronon. Why doesn't he just wear a gun? How long is he staying?"

"I didn't get a chance to ask," John narrowed his eyes when a trail of blood dripped down the side of D's palm, blood drops splattering on the ground as she looked up at Eliot with black eyes, "Can you override the privacy settings on Elizabeth's office?"

"Probably, if I had enough time," Rodney shifted nervously on his feet, "But Elizabeth usually keeps her radio on, doesn't she? Chuck should be able to get her on the emergency channel. What's wrong?"

"Tell him to get her out here," John directed quietly, "Because I'm pretty sure Vaughn's about to-"

The tags slipped from D's hand.

Before they hit the ground, D pulled the gun from her holster, aimed it at Eliot's head, and squeezed the trigger.

Eliot managed to shove the gun to the side, the sound of the shot muffled as the bullet flew past his ear. The bullet impacted the wall behind them as Eliot twisted the gun out of D's grip, lifting his leg to kick her in the right thigh and making her stagger back.

"Now, Rodney," John shouted, rushing towards the door.

Eliot ejected the clip from the gun, throwing it towards D. She deflected the clip with one arm, using the other to yank one of the curved black knives from the holster behind her back. Eliot dropped the gun to the ground at his feet as D begin slashing towards him with her knife.

"Chuck," Rodney yelled, not bothering to use his earpiece as he followed John out the door, "Get Dr. Weir out here. Now!"

"You stupid motherfucker!" D yelled furiously, "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Rae," Eliot blocked her knife arm, grunting when her other hand landed a hard punch to his ribs, "Rae, stop."

"Vaughn!" John's hand tightened around his gun, "Knock it off!"

"Stay back," Eliot's attention shifted to John for a second and D's booted foot impacted the side of his knee, making him stumble to the side, "Will you listen to me, Rae?"

D screamed again, this time in what sounded like angry Hebrew, taking advantage of Eliot's stumble by landing a short cut on his bicep. Eliot blocked several more swipes of her knife, backing both of them away from John and Rodney towards the opposite door. D managed to make another small cut on Eliot's forearm and blood trickled down his arm as he growled. His eyes flashed a brilliant electric blue as his left hand slipped underneath D's guard to wrap around her neck. He lifted her about two inches into the air before slamming her back down to the ground. Her breath rushed out as her back hit the ground, Eliot pulling one of the knives from the holster on his thigh as he followed her down. He tightened his grip on her neck as he crouched over her, the tip of his knife sinking into D's right thigh even as she brought her knife up to his ribs.

"That's enough, Azrael," Eliot declared coldly, "Calm down or I'll open up an artery."

"What the hell is going on here?" Jack came rushing out onto the balcony, Elizabeth following quickly behind him, "Stand down, Spencer!"

Elizabeth held up a hand to stop the uniformed guards from following her onto the balcony. The two men looked over to John and he shook his head, waving them off and sending a quick thought to Atlantis to slide both sets of glass doors shut again.

"What's it going to be, Rae?" Eliot asked calmly, the red stain on D's pants growing bigger, "We can either stab each other to death or finish our conversation. Up to you."

D snarled furiously as her hand fell back to the ground with a quiet clink of metal.

"Good choice," Eliot pulled his knife out of her leg and wiped it clean on the bottom of her shirt. He slid it back into the holster and reached into D's pants pocket to pull out a handkerchief. He shifted his grip, moving from D's neck to grab the front of her shirt and yank her up into a standing position, "If you try to pick up your gun before I'm done explaining," Eliot shoved the cloth against her thigh and put her hand over it to hold it in place, "I'll break all your fingers."

"Fuck you, asshole," D used the cloth to wipe the blood from her knife before sliding it back behind her back, "You're welcome to try."

"Put that back on your leg, Rae," Eliot narrowed his eyes, irises steel-blue once more, "And watch your language. Cussing at me ain't gonna help."

"My leg is fine," D shifted her angry glare to Jack, "I should've killed you when I had the chance. I should have known I couldn't trust you."

"But you didn't kill me," Jack quirked an eyebrow up, "It wasn't my idea to bring him here, you know. He broke into my house too."

"You need better locks. Or better yet, a dog," Eliot pointed to D's leg, "Put pressure on it."

"You put pressure on it," D threw the cloth at his chest, "You're bleeding all over your shirt."

"And besides," Jack continued as Eliot used the handkerchief to wipe the blood from his arms, "You lied to me, and Elizabeth for that matter, after promising me you wouldn't."

"Technically, I answered before I made that promise," D's stormy gray gaze flickered over to a silent Elizabeth and back to Jack, "and technically, it's not a lie. There are no others like me."

"You're not the only Angel," Eliot touched a hand to the wet spot on his shirt, drawing away bloody fingers, "You're not even the only Archangel, if you want to get really _technical_ about it."

"Shut up, Mika," D ordered harshly, "I am trying extremely hard not to stab you right now and you are making it difficult."

"You're welcome to try," Eliot pressed the bloody handkerchief to his ribs, "But you better-"

"No one is stabbing anyone," Elizabeth interrupted, stepping forward to the center of the balcony, "Or shooting anyone. Or any other form of grievous bodily harm," Elizabeth looked between Eliot and D, "Now, what exactly happened out here?"

"I told her why I was here, ma'am," Eliot drawled slowly, "We argued. She called me a couple rude names. I gave her an early birthday present. She got upset and tried to kill me. I stopped her."

"Upset?" D's hands tightened into fists at her sides, more blood dripping from the left one onto the ground, "I was _upset_ when you tried to blow up a building while I was still inside. I was _upset_ when you shot out my kneecap and I had to spend two months confined to a secure underground medical facility. I was _upset_ when I spent ten days fucking Moreau so he would let down his guard enough for you to kill him and you decided to work for him instead. I am not _upset_ , Mikha'el. I am very, _very_ angry."

"Don't talk to me about _angry_ , Azrael," Eliot moved towards D, grabbing her bleeding hand to wrap the bloody cloth around it, "They called me to _identify your body_!" Eliot tied the cloth into a knot to keep it in place, "There was some problem with the DNA test and they weren't sure it was you so they tracked me down. I spread your ashes over the Pacific. By _myself_ ," Eliot's voice started getting louder, "It took me three and a half months to get an untraceable copy of your obituary to Bri and Raf. It took me five and a half months to find your copies of Evolution and Choir and backtrack to your personal history. It took me another two months to find your last set of orders. I went to O'Neill's house, ready to enact vengeance on the dumb schmuck who finally got the better of you," Eliot was yelling in D's face as he finished, "only to find out you've been alive the ENTIRE TIME! You don't get to be pissed at me because I cared enough to find out what happened to you!"

"Finding out what happened to me," D shouted, putting both hands on Eliot's chest to shove him back a step, "SHOULD NOT include putting yourself in danger again. You were out. You were done. And now, the trail is there for anyone who bothers to look. Someone will find it and they will use me to get to you or to the others. For fuck's sake, Mika!" D shoved him back another step, "Do you really think that someone like me – someone with my resources and skills – couldn't find a piece of information as simple as that if I wanted to? Do you think I'm that fucking _stupid_ , Mika? I have known what it meant since the first time you flashed blue at me. Since you three and _only you three_ became Archangels. Do you have any idea what I had to endure to keep that secret? Do you have any idea what I _did_?" D shoved him again, tears forming in her eyes, "Do you have any idea the consequences of what you've done? Do you have any idea…" D shoved at Eliot's chest weakly, her voice wavering as the first tear slid down her cheek, "…I gave up ever knowing…to keep you safe…all of you…" Eliot reached up to wrap a hand around the back of D's neck, tugging her against his chest and wrapping his other arm around her waist, "And you ruined it. Everything."

There was an awkward silence on the balcony as D's body sagged against Eliot, her breaths coming raggedly as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

Rodney reach down for the forgotten tags on the ground. There was a small metal wing attached to the chain next to two flat engraved tags. He used a thumb to wipe of the smear of blood off the first tag to find simple inscription – only a name and a birthdate – the other with a set of six symbols he didn't understand.

"Who's Deirdre Grace Spencer?" Rodney wondered aloud.

"It's wasn't an initial," Elizabeth answered softly, "It was a nickname. Not 'D' the letter, but 'D-E-E' – short for Deirdre. It's her birth name. They're half-siblings."


	7. Mostly Harmless

Eliot extended the arm around Deirdre's waist, holding out his hand as he scowled at Rodney.

"Give me those," Eliot growled, "They're not yours."

"Right. Of course, uh, here," Rodney dropped the tags into Eliot's hand and stepped back quickly, "Sorry."

Eliot shoved the tags into Deirdre's back pocket and wrapped his arm back around her waist.

"Mika," D took a deep breath, "Stop hugging me."

"No," Eliot pulled her tighter against him.

"We're in public," Deirdre's words were half muffled by Eliot's chest.

"I know, Rae," Eliot said evenly.

"There are people watching us," Deirdre complained, "And you're hugging me."

"I'm sure they've seen people hug before, Rae," Eliot drawled.

"Can you at least stop projecting at the City?" Deirdre rolled her head against Eliot's collarbone, "She doesn't understand why you're screaming at her and she's giving me a headache trying to ask me why."

"I'm not screaming at anyone," Eliot leaned back to look down to Deirdre curiously, "What are you talking about?"

Deirdre reached up to press a thumb into the hollow behind his ear, murmuring quietly in Hebrew.

"What do you mean the city is alive?" Eliot wondered.

Deirdre muttered some more and Eliot rolled his eyes.

"Well, how was I supposed to know what that noise was?" Eliot's eyes fell closed, "It's not like I've ever met a living City before," Eliot let out a slow breath and opened his eyes again, "Better?"

"Much, thank you," Deirdre dropped her hand, "There's a lot of tech here that will reach out and try to grab your mind. Keep it at that level so you don't accidently activate something. The scientists get cranky if you activate things without permission. Especially Rodney."

"I'll try," Eliot agreed dryly, "Don't want to tick off any scientists."

"Now will you stop hugging me?" Deirdre questioned.

"Nope," Eliot shook his head.

"Mikha'el," Deirdre muttered softly, "Please."

"Bring your pulse back down under a hundred fifty," Eliot sighed as he loosened his hold, "It's like holding onto a damn hummingbird."

"Is that an order, Commander?" Deirdre wiped her face on his shirt.

"Shut up, Rae," Eliot dropped the arm from her waist as she stepped back but kept his hand on the back of her neck, "And I ain't a tissue."

"A hundred fifty?" a concerned frown marred Elizabeth's forehead.

She looked between Eliot and Deirdre, trying to catalogue all the similarities and differences between them. Eliot was about three inches taller than Deirdre, physical strength clear in both Eliot's solid, compact muscles and Deirdre's leanly toned body. The shape of their noses were similar, though Eliot's had obviously been broken at some point. The freckles spattered across Deirdre's nose and cheekbones made her look incredibly young next to the faint frown lines between Eliot's eyebrows and around his mouth. The biggest resemblance was in the eyes; both ash gray and ice blue surrounded by full, dark lashes and both with weary expressions.

"I'm fine, ma'am. It's under control," Deirdre straightened, "Dr. Weir, this is…a co-worker of mine. Sergeant Eliot Spencer. _Aussi connu comme l'Archange Mikha'el, commandant du Corps de Ange. Il est Miséricorde à ma Mort_." [French: Also known as the Archangel Mikha'el, Commander of the Angel Corps. He is Mercy to my Death.]

"Just Eliot is fine, ma'am," Eliot's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he turned to Elizabeth, "I'm retired."

"Commander," Deirdre continued easily, "this is _Domina mea_ , Dr. Elizabeth Weir, Leader of the Atlantis Expedition." [Latin: My Mistress]

Elizabeth gave Eliot a short nod.

"Co-worker? I thought he was you brother…half-brother, whatever," Rodney asked rapidly, "Does that mean he's a spy too? Or former spy, I guess, since he's retired. Are you like, a family of spies or something? How can you be a Sergeant in the Army and be a CIA spy? Did you retire from the army to work for the CIA?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions," Eliot turned his falsely polite smile to Rodney.

"This is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, Military Commander," Deirdre gestured to John and Rodney, "and Dr. Rodney McKay, Head of Science and Research."

"Colonel, Doctor," Eliot nodded at each of them. His polite smile softened into an amused smirk as he looked back to Deirdre, "I spent sixteen days cooped up on that ship with nothing better to do than read through everyone's files. I know who they all are."

"You read our files?" Rodney scowled, "Don't you need special security clearance for that?"

"He has clearance," Deirdre spare only a quick glance for Rodney before she glared up at Eliot, "I was being polite, Mikha'el. Something you should considering trying some time. You may know who they are, but they don't know who you are."

"I guess I shouldn't ask why a retired Army Sergeant has security clearance to read classified personnel files," John bent to retrieve Deirdre's gun and the clip, "Should I?"

"No, you shouldn't," Eliot frowned as John straightened.

"I think I liked it better when you didn't carry bullets, Vaughn," John slid the clip back into the gun and flicked the safety on before he jammed into the back of his pants, "Do I need to take the rest of your toys away so you're not tempted to kill anyone else today?"

"I think I can control myself," Deirdre glanced over to Jack, "At least for today."

"You let him touch your gun?" Eliot asked suspiciously.

"Yeah. He's…" Deirdre trailed off. She looked from Eliot to John and back again before shrugging awkwardly, "…Mostly harmless, I guess."

"Mostly harmless?" John questioned.

"If you say so," Eliot scoffed, "Why're you carrying anyway?"

"I got tired of having to take the time to grab a gun from someone else every time I needed one. I started carrying my own a couple months ago," Deirdre looked up at Eliot seriously, "Plus, you know, space vampires."

"Space vampires," Eliot shook his head, "Right."

"You're carrying over half a dozen knives," Deirdre tapped one of the knives on his chest, "Out in the open where everyone can see."

"Easy access," Eliot squeezed Deirdre's neck gently as he looked over to Jack, "Still deciding whether I'm going to kill the General or not."

"Hey," Jack protested, "I thought we discussed this."

"I think I can control myself," Eliot spoke evenly, "Mainly because I'd rather not have his wife as an enemy."

"HEY!" Jack repeated.

"Good point," Deirdre snorted.

"Plus, you know," Eliot's expression softened back into the amused smirk as he looked down at Deirdre, "Space vampires."

"You're married?" Rodney eyed Jack skeptically, "Really? Since when?"

"Is that such a surprise?" Jack asked grumpily.

"Well…yes-I mean, no!" Rodney flapped a hand towards Jack, "It's just that you're…well…"

"I'm what?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Enough, all of you," Elizabeth commanded, "We seem to have gotten a bit side-tracked. Dr. Vaughn and…Do you prefer Sergeant or Commander?"

"Eliot, ma'am," Eliot reminded her, "Retired."

"Very well, Eliot, Dee," Elizabeth looked between the two of them, "I think you should both head to the infirmary to get cleaned up and checked out."

"The injuries really aren't that bad, ma'am," Deirdre claimed.

"You stuck a knife between my ribs," Eliot's drawl thickened, "And I stuck one in your thigh. That was after you squeezed a piece of dull metal tight enough to open up your hand. I don't know about you, but I'd like to find out if maybe we need a couple stitches."

"I didn't even stab you that hard," Deirdre grumbled, "There's a very important meeting that I'm-we're," Deirdre gestured towards John and Rodney, "already late for. I'm supposed to supervise while General O'Neill and Dr. Weir speak in her office. After the meeting, I'm scheduled to assist Dr. Jackson with his database search and to keep Ms. Mal Doran occupied until 2300 this evening. I barely have enough time to change clothes. I really don't have time for you today, Mika."

"I'm sure Dr. Weir," Eliot gave Elizabeth an expectant look, "wouldn't mind if you took the afternoon off. Especially since we have over two years' worth of catching up to do."

"Some of us actually work for a living, Mr. I'm-Retired," Deirdre huffed, "I can't just-"

"Actually," Elizabeth interrupted, "Some down time sounds like a good idea."

"Ma'am?" Deirdre asked cautiously.

"I'll take care of the meeting with SG-1 and Ms. Mal Doran can help with Daniel's research," Elizabeth raised an eyebrow when Jack opened his mouth to speak, "I'm sure the General won't mind too much if we postpone our meeting until later this evening. It's best if Dr. Vaughn and Sergeant Spencer are included in the discussion, anyway. Especially since it directly involves the two of them. Don't you think so, Jack?"

"Not really," Jack held Elizabeth's stare, "Neither of them have been entirely forthcoming with pertinent information. And, frankly, I'm getting a little tired of the two of them threatening to kill me."

"Seeing as they're both worried about retaliation from your wife," Elizabeth continued dryly, "I think you'll be safe for the remainder of your trip. I would prefer having them there while we attempt to resolve the current situation."

"Dr. Weir," Jack narrowed his eyes in warning.

"I really don't intend to take no for an answer, General," Elizabeth's expression hardened.

"Yes, I can see that," Jack sighed, "Fine. We can talk later this evening. But I expect the truth this time. From all parties involved."

"Agreed," Elizabeth looked back to Deirdre and Eliot, " _Nous pouvons rencontrer sur le balcon. Vous apportez Eliot, je vais amener le général. Dirons-nous 2100_?" [French: We can meet on the balcony. You bring Eliot, I'll bring the General. Shall we say 2100?]

" _Oui, madame_ ," D inclined her head. [French: Yes, ma'am.]

"You need to report to the infirmary before you do anything else," Elizabeth insisted, "But after that, you're free to spend the rest of the day however you'd like…as long as you don't acquire any more injuries."

"Yes, ma'am," D shifted on her feet.

"Rae," Eliot's squeezed her neck again, "Ask if you want to ask."

"It's fine," Deirdre insisted quickly, "If it's fine with you then-"

"You know it doesn't bother me like it does you," Eliot replied quietly, "If you want to ask, then ask."

"Ask what?" Elizabeth questioned.

Eliot looked at Deirdre expectantly.

"Would it be all right if we…" Deirdre cleared her throat as she turned back to Elizabeth, "Sergeant Spencer and I are both certified paramedics and we have a bit of experience in field medicine," Eliot snorted and Deirdre elbowed him in the stomach, "I have a well-stocked med-kit in my room. Would it be all right if we patched each other up instead of going to the infirmary? _Je serais plus à l'aise avec lui qu'avec aucun des médecins._ " [French: I'd be more comfortable with him than with any of the doctors.]

"You're sure?" Elizabeth asked carefully, "You're both still bleeding."

"Wouldn't be the first time we stitched ourselves up, ma'am," Eliot smiled, "She's the reason we got medical training in the first place."

"That's not entirely true," Deirdre grumbled.

"Is too," Eliot argued.

"Is not," Deirdre glared at him.

"You can take of each other's injuries," Elizabeth interrupted, "But I'm sending Marie to check your dressings before dinner."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Deirdre relaxed slightly.

"Now, I believe some of us have a meeting to get to," Elizabeth declared, "Would you like me to have someone show you to your guest quarters, General?"

"I think I'm going to head to the mess," Jack patted his belly, "I'm sure I can find my own way. I'll grab a radio from that kid in the control room, in case I get lost."

"Please be careful not to touch anything," Elizabeth reminded him, "There are still many undiscovered things here in the City and we know you have a strong expression of the gene."

"No touching the tech," Jack nodded, "Got it."

Deirdre tapped Eliot's forearm and he finally released his grip on her neck. She moved over to John, brushing against his jacket as she reached around him to retrieve her gun from his belt.

"I didn't say you could have that back yet," John drawled, "And again, you could've asked."

"My gun and you could've said no," Deirdre narrowed her eyes as she holstered her gun, "That better be plastic, Sheppard."

"Motivational tool," John smirked, "Wouldn't work if it was plastic."

"Hmmm," Deirdre made a doubtful noise.

"Does this mean you're staying?" Rodney blurted.

"Yes," Elizabeth declared firmly.

"No," Eliot insisted at the same time.

"Actually," Jack interjected, "That hasn't been decided yet."

Deirdre tilted her head to the side, looking between the three of them.

"Oh…okay?" Rodney shifted uncomfortably, "So, am I supposed to call you Deirdre now? Or Dee?"

"It's pronounced 'dEE-er-druh'," Deirdre blushed a pale pink, "It's Irish. It means 'sad one'. I suppose you could but…"

"Hmmm. Too much work," Rodney flapped a hand at her, "I'm just going to keep calling you Red. Much easier."

"Whatever makes your life easier," Deirdre rolled her eyes at him.

"Well, I'm off to find snacks," the glass door slid open in front of Jack as he left, "Have fun kids."

"We'd better head to the conference room. We're already late," Elizabeth checked her watch as she moved to the other door, John following behind her, "Do not hide from Marie, Dee. She'll tell me if you don't cooperate."

"Yes, Elizabeth," Deirdre paused until Elizabeth and John were off the balcony, "Remember what I said, Rodney."

"Yes, yes, I know – leggy blondes are bad for me," Rodney huffed and looked over her shoulder to Eliot, "See if you can get her to take a nap. She's cranky 'cause she hasn't slept all week."

"Rodney!" Deirdre scolded.

"Rae," Eliot's drew her name out deliberately, "Have you slept in the last ninety-six hours?"

"I-" Deirdre started.

"She hasn't," Rodney grinned smugly, "She admitted not even ten minutes ago that she hasn't slept all week and the days are longer here than on Earth. Let's see…twenty-seven hours a day times six days so far this week..."

"I hate you," Deirdre glared at Rodney, "Worst friend ever."

"No, you don't," Rodney practically skipped towards the door, "Idiot."

"Jackass," Deirdre shouted after him.

*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*

"This is gonna work, right?" Cameron asked.

"Theoretically," Sam nodded as they came into the gate room, "As long as we get the calculations right."

"And you're sure you can't do it on your own?" Cameron sighed, "That McKay guy seems kind of…"

"I'll deny I ever said this but…" Sam looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, "Yes, McKay is arrogant and selfish and rude and if he hits on me again I'm probably going to punch him in the nose, but he's also kind of brilliant."

"If you say so," Cameron scoffed, "After the thing with the dogs in the meeting, I'm not so sure."

"I think being here in Atlantis has been good for him," Sam said thoughtfully, "He seems to have matured since-"

"Will you get your hell-beast away from me?" Rodney shouted as he came around the corner. He was holding his overnight bag high in the air, trying to keep it out of Nemesis' reach as she circled around his legs. Deirdre followed behind them, changed from her uniform into an oversized blue zippered hoodie – several short strands of gray cat hair visible on it – and a pair of black leggings with thick socks over the bottom, her hair piled up in a messy bun on top of her head and her left palm wrapped neatly in white gauze.

"Come on, Rodney," Deirdre pouted at him, "I said please."

"After which you sicced the hell-beast on me," Rodney stopped in front of Sam, "What do you need it for anyway? Knowing you, you're going to use it for blackmail or revenge or something."

"Maybe if it was a dirty one I could use it to frame you for a horrible crime or something," Deirdre rolled her eyes, "But I'm asking for a clean one."

Nemesis kept circling Rodney's legs, her tail twitching back and forth.

"Can't you ask Lorne?" Rodney shooed Nemesis with one hand, "Isn't he the one you normally ask?"

"I would," Deirdre stuck her hands in her shirt pockets, "But the Orion's out on a survey mission. They won't be back until tomorrow night and I need one now."

"Need one what?" Sam wondered.

"A shirt," Deirdre huffed, "Rodney's being mean and he won't let me borrow one."

"What's wrong with your shirts?" Rodney scowled at her, "You're wearing a shirt now. Why do you have to have one of my shirts?"

"Does it matter?" Deirdre stuck her lower lip out, "I promise I won't ruin it. I'll even wash it with your special hypoallergenic detergent before I return it."

"It does matter," Rodney insisted, "If you want to borrow one of my shirts you're going to have to tell me the real reason why."

"Ugh, fine," Deirdre rolled her eyes again, "You told El I hadn't slept and so now he's trying to get me to take a nap and I don't really own pajamas and everything I could theoretically sleep in is packed away and I told him I didn't really need to nap anyway but he's insisting and bribing me with his mama's chili for dinner if I do take a nap so I agreed but if he's going to be in and out of my room making food or whatever I can't really sleep naked because he's my brother and that's gross and I can't sleep in the shirt I'm wearing, which is his anyway, because it has a zipper and half the time I sleep on my stomach and I get hot when I sleep anyway so I really need some kind of tee shirt so I can sleep comfortably and Evan's not here so I figured I would ask you since we're friends and you always pack one more shirt than you need when you go on extended missions, which means you have an extra one in your bag now and this way I won't have to break into someone's room to steal one and then have to worry about putting it back before someone notices."

Rodney blinked several times, his mouth hanging open.

"So can I borrow one of your tee shirts or not?" Deirdre blew her bangs to the side.

"Did you just say all that in one breath?" Rodney asked warily.

"Yes," Deirdre nodded, "I have good breath control."

"Call off your hell-beast," Rodney sighed and shook his head, "You can borrow a shirt."

"Thanks, Rodney," Deirdre grinned and clicked her fingers.

Nemesis chirped happily and padded over to stand between Deirdre and Cameron. Rodney finally lowered his bag, unzipping it and digging around to withdraw a folded black tee shirt.

"Don't ruin it," Rodney held the shirt out.

"I won't," Deirdre took one of her hands out of her pockets to grab the shirt.

"I'm serious," Rodney narrowed his eyes, "I want it back tomorrow. Cleaned and washed."

"With your detergent," Deirdre nodded.

"And there better not be any animal hair on it," Rodney loosened his hold.

Deirdre pulled the shirt from Rodney's grip as Nemesis pressed against the back of her knee. Deirdre tripped backwards, the shirt falling to the ground as Cameron reached out to catch her.

"You all right?" Cameron questioned.

"Fine," Deirdre straightened, "Just a little embarrassed. Oh, crap, sorry," Deirdre started brushing both hands over the front of Cameron's uniform, "Nemesis was a little cuddly today. You've got hair on your nice new uniform now. Don't worry if you have any cat allergies – the mphakas may look like cats but they're more closely related to dogs. Oh. You're not allergic to dogs are you?"

"No," Cameron grabbed her wrists to stop her from brushing his uniform, "I'm not allergic to dogs."

"Okay, good," Deirdre smiled as she stepped back, "I should probably go before I do anything else to embarrass myself in front of half of the famous SG-1," she stooped to retrieve the shirt from the floor, "It was nice to see you again, Samantha," Deirdre reached down to brush a hand over Nemesis head, "Come on you. Let's try to make it back to our room without tripping anyone else," Deirdre waved the shirt at Rodney as she left, "Thanks again, Rodney."

"She's weirder than normal today," Rodney shook his head before turning to smirk at Sam, "Shall we go save the galaxy then?"


	8. Corps

**Here - have even MORE dubious sci-fi science! Now with a side of angst!**

* * *

Elizabeth smiled softly at the sight that greeted her as she led Jack onto the balcony.

Eliot was sitting on the couch opposite the doorway, one arm slung over the back and the other holding a dog-eared paperback. Deirdre was laying on her back, her head resting on one of Eliot's thighs, another book in her hands while Nemesis laid her head on Eliot's other thigh. There were two tablets and a chess set in the center of the square table, each of the black chess pieces labeled with a small blue sticky note. Both Eliot and Nemesis looked up at Jack and Elizabeth while Deirdre closed her book and sat up.

"I see we got rid of the weapons," Jack settled onto one of the couches.

"If it makes you feel better to believe that," Eliot drawled, "Then sure, we got rid of the weapons."

"Ma'am," Deirdre nodded to Elizabeth as the other woman sat down on the couch opposite Jack, "Did Marie radio you?"

"She did," Elizabeth reached for one of the tablets, "She said other than some pink glitter in the bandage on your hand, your dressings were fine."

"Pink glitter?" Jack wondered.

"Emergency arts and crafts," Deirdre accepted Eliot's book, setting them both on the table in front of her, "I borrowed it from the boom lab."

"Why does the boom lab have pink glitter? No, wait," Jack shook his head as he picked up the second tablet, "Don't answer that. I don't want to know. So where exactly do you want to start?"

"At the beginning," Deirdre straightened, looking over to Elizabeth, "If that's all right?"

"Go ahead," Elizabeth nodded.

"My grandfather, on my father's side, had four kids," Eliot dropped one hand to pet Nemesis as she laid her head back on his lap, "Three boys and a girl. My father – the oldest – married my mother in 1973 and nine months later I was born. Four years later, my father had a week long fling with a woman passing through town."

"Her name was Alice Bailey," Deirdre continued, "She had just finished her PhD in molecular biology. She was celebrating her new job by driving cross-country from her home in Connecticut to the DoD facility in Oregon where she'd be working. A month into her employment, she discovered she was pregnant. By that time, she had already proven her worth several times over to the people in charge of her department so even though she was about to become a single mother, they begged her to stay. Around the fourth month of her pregnancy she fell in love with one of the scientists in charge of the project she was working on. Two weeks before I was born, Dr. Alice Bailey married Dr. David James."

"Even though she married Dr. James," Eliot picked up where Deirdre left off, "Alice named my father on the birth certificate. I'm not sure if he was ever notified. I honestly don't think he knows Dee exists. When I went searching for Dee's past, I found a safe deposit box with a copy of her birth certificate and a note from Alice, explaining how she named him as the father even though Dr. James would be the one to raise her. She wanted Dee to know the truth about her biological father, if she ever got curious."

"From all accounts, David and Alice had a happy marriage," Deirdre folded her hands together over her lap, "When I was three, Alice and I were in a car accident. There was a terrible storm that night. She picked me up, from daycare I think, and she was singing lullabies in Latin as we were driving home to keep me calm. She hit a wet patch of road and lost control of the car. We went off the side of the road into a ditch and collided head-on with a tree. We were there for what seemed like a really long time to me, but was probably closer to half an hour, before someone drove by and found us. I was relatively unharmed, but Alice was critically wounded. We were both transferred to the infirmary at the facility where she worked – the best in the world at the time. The doctors did everything they could but they were unable to save Alice. She died eight hours after the crash. David did not take her death well. After the funeral, he refused to be separated from me. He couldn't bear to let me out of his sight. Since he was one of the facilities top geneticists, he was allowed a certain amount of leeway. He brought me to work with him, letting me play under his desk while he worked. One day, about six months after my mother died, after everyone else had gone home for the night, David picked me up and set me on his desk. He told me he was going to give me a present. One that would stop me from ending up like my mother. He injected me for the first time that night. It turned out that for the last five years, his team had been working on a classified DoD project meant to induce rapid cellular regeneration. They were trying to accelerate advanced healing in humans."

"In English?" Jack questioned.

"You read any Captain America comic books?" Eliot continued when Jack nodded, "Kind of like that, only the project was originally intended to heal the critically wounded or terminally ill."

"The research facility was- _is_ decades ahead of any other scientific research on Earth," Deirdre explained, "so when Dr. James injected me, his serum actually worked. It was painful – especially for a three-year old – but David was determined not to lose me the same way he did Alice. He thought the serum would have a preventative effect on me, that it would somehow heal my injuries before they could become life-threatening. Every time his team produced a new serum, he would inject me with it. By the time he was discovered two years later, I could read, write, and speak four languages fluently and my eyes had shifted from blue to black."

"Some of the scientists had to suspect what was going on," Eliot draped his arm over Deirdre's shoulders, "But didn't say anything out of respect for Dr. James."

"Probably," Deirdre agreed, "I happened to be with Dr. James during an inspection by the director of the facility. The director was complaining about a lack of progress in the project and threatened to shut them down unless they could produce tangible results. Not knowing any better, I spoke up, telling the director that I was the proof. Dr. James explained that he had been testing the serums on me for two years. He called me his little miracle. His angel. The director got angry that Dr. James had so blatantly disregarded protocols and abused the considerations he had been given with regards to keeping me with him. The director demanded that I be taken to the infirmary for testing. Even with the somewhat limited testing capabilities of the time, the difference in my DNA was easy to see. Although the serums produced the intended restorative results, they didn't work quite like the team predicted. They didn't just accelerate the parts of DNA responsible for healing, they accelerated all of it."

"Meaning…what exactly?" Jack inquired calmly.

"The serums induced a state of artificial advancement," Deirdre leaned towards Eliot, tucking her feet under her legs comfortably, "My DNA was visibly mutating – it's mentioned in their notes that the mutations appeared to be several generations' worth of evolution, but they had no way of proving it. Since they had no idea how they managed to do it in the first place, they didn't know how to stop it. The DoD received a report detailing what had happened. They re-classified the project to the highest level possible, changed it from medical to military, and re-named it Evolution. The DoD moved everything to a secured off-site testing facility. After that, I became a human test subject."

"There's a copy of the files on your tablets," Eliot pulled Deirdre tighter against his side, "If you're interested in all the sordid details. Basically, they started actively trying to make their very own super-soldiers using Deirdre as a guinea pig. They were trying to create a new advanced breed of humans."

"From ages five to eight," Deirdre ducked her head, "I was subjected to every possible medical test you could think of, and several you couldn't possibly imagine, injected every time a new serum was refined. I was confined to the facility, given a ten by ten room with glass walls and monitored every second of every day. I was given the best of everything - the best tutors from around the globe, the most nutritious meals four times a day – so long as I cooperated with their experiment."

"Dr. James started having doubts about what they were doing," Eliot continued, "He speaks several times in his notes about his attempts to get Deirdre removed from the project. The team was injecting volunteers from the military on a regular basis. Most of them died painfully within a week of being injected, the rest managing to make it no longer than two months. When the DoD showed up with two dozen orphans from around the country and ordered the team to start experimenting on them, Dr. James refused to continue with the project, joined by several of his colleagues."

"When I was eight," Deirdre looked back up to Jack, "Dr. James was involved in a lab accident."

"Accident?" Jack narrowed his eyes.

"That's what the report says," Eliot rumbled, "But if you read between the lines, they had him killed. After his death, none of the other scientists complained about injecting children."

"I was told they attempted to contact my birth father," Deirdre glanced over to Eliot, "But I could tell that wasn't true. I had already lost my mother and the only father I had ever known at that point. I kept my mouth shut, figuring it would be best for everyone involved. They told me my biological father was dead and that I had no other living relatives. I became a ward of the state. My paperwork was lost in the system somewhere. The children fared better than the military volunteers in the experiment. Most survived an entire month before they died. Four of them managed to survive an entire six months before they lost their minds and had to be terminated. With Dr. James no longer around to protect me, they started training me in earnest."

"That's when the conditioning started," Elizabeth said softly, "After Dr. James died."

"It was," Deirdre nodded, "I was the only one who had managed to endure the experiment so far. They decided to make the best of the situation. By age ten, I had a high school equivalency degree, could speak ten languages, and was proficient in twelve different styles of martial arts. At age thirteen, I spoke twenty different languages, could shoot a hole through a target the size of a dime from three thousand yards away, and could take down half a dozen men twice my size without breaking a sweat. At the conclusion of Project Evolution in 1991, I was fully under their control. As a reward for my 'hard work', I was allowed to go to the college of my choosing and study whatever I wanted, provided I could prove it would be useful to my future career. I decided to get a doctorate in political science, for obvious reasons. I was to be accompanied by my Master posing as my foster father – my legal guardian – and I was to report to medical facility of his choosing once a month for continued testing."

"I couldn't find any records of those tests," Eliot glanced over to Deirdre, "But I didn't look that hard. The one time I asked…it didn't go well."

"I destroyed everything," Deirdre stated flatly, "There are absolutely no records of that time period, other than my degree. Unless directly ordered to reveal what went on during those three years, I am not going to discuss it. Ever."

"Is it something we need to know about," Elizabeth asked carefully, "in order to make an informed decision as to your future?"

"There are two things you need to know, ma'am," Deirdre held Elizabeth's stare, "The first is that my vocal chords were permanently scarred during that time period – the only evidence of any injury on my body my entire life. The second is that I am the only person still alive who knows what happened. I killed everyone else involved – not under orders, but by choice – including the three Masters I had during that time period."

"You…" Elizabeth paled.

"How many?" Jack tapped his fingers on the side of his tablet.

Deirdre shifted her blank stare to Jack, "Forty-seven. I would make the exact same decisions now as I did then. Believe me when I tell you, every single one of them deserved what I did to them."

Jack stared at her a minute longer before he nodded shortly, "What happened next? I still haven't heard how Spencer got involved in all this, besides having a cheater for a father."

"My mother died when I was ten," Eliot drawled, "After that, my father and I never really got along. I joined the Army the day I graduated high school, desperate to get out of the small town I grew up in. After boot camp, I volunteered for special ops. Eighteen months of training before they assigned me to a black ops unit and started sending us out on missions. During my unit's third mission, things went sideways. Two of us were killed, one wounded, and I was captured. The North Koreans threw me in this little hole they called a prison."

"After I finished my first degree," Deirdre reached over to scratch under Nemesis' chin, "I was considered an active asset by the US government. I was unaffiliated with any particular agency or department – a freelance operative paid with slush funds and never spoken about aloud. They started sending me out on missions. I was in North Korea on an unrelated job when I got the order to bring Eliot to them."

"I was shocked to see this skinny little girl," Eliot smiled down at Deirdre fondly, "not even old enough to vote yet, picking the lock on my cell and complaining about wasting her talents on rescuing idiot soldiers."

"I was old enough to save your dumb ass," Deirdre elbowed him in the stomach, "And they wouldn't have let me vote anyway. And I'm not little, damn it."

"She half-carried me out of there to the extraction site," Eliot continued easily, "Literally dumped me in the back of a cargo plane. Said she had a mission to complete but if I was still alive when the plane landed someone would be there to collect me."

"When I got back to the States three days later, I was told they were starting a new DoD experiment and Eliot had volunteered as the first subject. Unbeknownst to me, they had been refining Dr. James serums using the technological and medical advancements for the last five years. They called it Project Choir," Deirdre leaned forwards to slide the chessboard closer to her, "This is where the visual aids come in."

"The goal of Project Choir was to take the best of the best," Eliot moved Nemesis' head to the side so he could pick up the black king and queen, holding one in each hand, "military, law enforcement, intelligence, politics and place them strategically throughout the country so when the current generation of power-hungry old men in charge finally retired, we'd be in a position to take over."

"Which I find somewhat ironic," Deirdre rolled their eyes, "Since the people in charge of the project at that point were a bunch of power-hungry old men and they wanted us under their control."

"As soon as they realized the injections were working on me," Eliot twirled the king in his hand, "I became the leader – the general of their army – the face of their secret project. Suddenly I wasn't just Eliot Spencer any more. I was Mikha'el, Archangel of Mercy," Eliot twirled the queen, "Dee had already earned the name Azrael, Archangel of Death, and she became the Queen. The most powerful piece on the board, ready to be sacrificed to protect the King, and the hidden power behind the throne."

"From 1996 to 2000, five hundred people from all over the country were recruited into Project Choir," Deirdre took the pieces from Eliot and set them back on the board, "Two hundred fifty-three died as a result of the injections. One hundred thirty-one of those remaining became mentally unstable during training and were terminated."

"Are you telling me," Jack asked slowly, "there are a hundred sixteen genetically enhanced sleeper agents in the US now?"

"Not exactly," Deirdre replied carefully, "Those one hundred sixteen subjects became the Angel Corps. They're separated into five different categories. The four Archangels," Deirdre touched the bishop, king, queen, and the second bishop, "Jibril, Mikha'el, Azrael, and Israfil. We share the highest classification because our physical and mental abilities are the strongest – the most changed. The next two classifications are at the same level," Deirdre touched a rook and a knight, "The four Guardians – Amitiel, Harahel, Tzadkiel, and Zachriel – are the record keepers. They hold copies of everything to do with Project Choir from serum samples to family genealogies of every Angel to digital or paper copies of the research. Each of the four of them have a different part of the records so without all four of them together, the individual parts are useless. The Guardians know all the other Angels, but the only Angels who know their identities are Mikha'el and I," Deirdre tapped a pawn, "The Seraphim – Remiel, Halaliel, Haziel, Nathanael, Dagiel, Suriel, Karael, and Ouriel – are what you would consider soldiers. Over half are or were military. They have mildly enhanced physical and mental abilities, but nowhere near the level of Archangels."

"These three groups are the ones you need to be concerned with," Eliot gestured to the board, "The rest of the Angels are separated into two groups: Cherubim and Powers. Neither group has any measurable enhancements. Cherubs are…"

"Worker bees," Deirdre supplied.

"Sure, worker bees," Eliot agreed, "They supply useful intel, updated tech, and mission appropriate gear to Archangels and Seraphim. Powers are Angels who ensure the rest of us stay hidden but still in positions of power. They use their influence to put the rest of us where we're needed."

"Right," Jack swiped a hand down his face, "So you can take over the world."

"Why should we only be concerned with these sixteen?" Elizabeth inquired, "As opposed to the hundred others."

"Because Cherubs and Powers don't know they're Angels," Deirdre clarified, "Their memories have been repressed. They are activated by a code phrase – different for each one of them – then they are given a specific directive and deactivated. The directive is planted in their subconscious and they act on it without knowing."

"How is that not a problem?" Jack frowned, "Sounds exactly like a sleeper agent to me."

"The people in control of the project made a critical mistake, General," Deirdre replied carefully, "They didn't factor in human emotion. They saw us as pieces on a board to be moved according to their whims. They didn't see the bonds that we formed until it was too late. They thought because we did not show emotion, we did not feel anything."

"Jibril and Israfil were never cut out for our line of work," Eliot declared quietly, "Not that either of them did much field work, but still. When they started talking about getting out, Azrael and I decided they needed insurance, something to guarantee their freedom and safety. We eliminated all the non-Angels that had any knowledge of the activation phrases before they even realized what was happening."

"Then we split the activation codes between the Seraphim and the Archangels. As of 2001, these sixteen Angels," Deirdre tapped the chess pieces again, "were the most powerful people that Earth has never heard of. We turned their creations against them. When the project directors realized they had lost control, they shut down the experiment. Since they couldn't risk eliminating any of us without incurring the wrath of the entire Corps, the lower ranks were allowed to continue with their lives as they wanted. Some stayed where they were, advancing their careers normally, some chose totally different lifestyles. Bri and Raf quit and went back to their normal lives, but Mika and I continued working for the government."

"Someone had to do the dirty work," Eliot smiled sadly, "and we were the best. We worked together for another seventeen months."

"Until Moreau," Deirdre sighed, "When Mika decided he wasn't getting paid enough to destroy his soul."

"Rae," Eliot brushed a thumb over her collarbone, "It wasn't anything to do with you."

"I know, Mika," Deirdre assured him, "You needed out and he was a convenient way to leave."

"I worked for Moreau for another nine months," Eliot sighed and went back to petting Nemesis, "Before I realized that it wasn't the money I had a problem with, it was the work."

"I continued under the direction of my handler – my Master – for the next eighteen months," Deirdre turned back to Elizabeth and Jack, "Until 2004 when I started receiving only electronic orders. And well, you know the rest."


	9. Alterations

"Why didn't you tell us about all this to begin with?" Jack questioned, "Why did you lie to me?"

"Technically, I never lied to you," Deirdre answered carefully, "You never asked about Choir."

"Wait, Jack," Elizabeth held up a hand as Jack opened his mouth, "Why don't you let me ask the questions so you two don't get into an easily avoidable argument?"

"Fine," Jack conceded.

"Thank you," Elizabeth turned back to Deirdre, "When we first met, you told us that you were the only Angel. That is obviously not the case. Even if you hadn't agreed to tell the truth at that point, it was a deliberate lie."

"No, ma'am," Deirdre disagreed, "Your exact words were 'Are there others like you?'" Deirdre mimicked Elizabeth's voice nearly perfectly, "My response was 'No. None of the other test subjects, adults or children, were able to endure the experiment. I am their only success.' You were reading about Project Evolution at the time. My response was therefore accurate and truthful. I am the only success of Evolution."

"But you are not the only Angel," Elizabeth glanced over to Eliot, "As evidenced by Mr. Spencer sitting here with you."

"Even among Angels I am unique," Deirdre responded easily, "There are no others like me."

"Explain," Elizabeth ordered calmly, "Please."

"Have you read the medical portion of my file?" Deirdre tilted her head to the side, "The part that lists my physical and mental capabilities?"

"I have," Elizabeth nodded, "I'm not sure I understood all of the medical jargon, however."

"Think of our…" Deirdre looked over to Eliot, "Improvements?"

"Enhancements?" Eliot suggested.

"Enhancements," Deirdre looked back to Elizabeth, "Although our DNA has been altered, we still have to mentally trigger our enhancements to use them. Think of the enhancements like…water. The average human has no faucet and so no access to water. Cherubim and Powers have faucets that have been stuck in the off position – they have access to water, but not the ability to get it. Seraphim and Guardians have faucets that only open partway – they have the ability to get the water, but only access to a trickle. The Archangels have faucets that open smoothly – easy access and ability."

"You can tell when an Archangel does something not quite human," Eliot tapped a finger under his eye, "It's all in the eyes."

"Our eyes glow brighter than normal," Deirdre agreed, "One of the scientists during Project Choir theorized that it had something to do with an increase in chemical and electrical transmissions in the body, but it was never definitively proven."

"What about you then?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"My faucet is stuck in the on position," the pigment in Deirdre's irises started shifting slowly to black, "I have to keep my hand on the faucet to keep the sink from overflowing. For me, a loss of control," Deirdre's eyes faded back to ash gray, "can have devastating consequences."

"When you woke up from the sedation," Elizabeth remembered thoughtfully, "You mentioned something about the lights being too bright. Does that have something to do with…losing control of your enhancements?"

"It does," Deirdre ducked her head, "I have to actively turn down all my senses so I don't get overwhelmed by all the different stimuli."

"How so?" Elizabeth wondered.

"If I don't rein my senses in…from where I am sitting," Deirdre looked over to Jack, "I can see the pulse of Jack's carotid artery – about sixty-eight beats per minute, respectable for a man of his age," she waved a hand slowly through the space in front of her, "I can feel the temperature difference between my skin and the air – it's cooled down to a comfortable seventy degrees fahrenheit this evening," she dropped the hand back to her lap and closed her eyes, "I can smell the lotion you put on this morning after your shower – Japanese cherry blossom, the one expensive indulgence you allow yourself," she licked her top lip, "I can taste the salt on the air – surrounded by miles of alien ocean," she opened her eyes again to look at Elizabeth, "I can hear the waves slapping against the North pier – the sea's calm tonight, we'll have pleasant weather tomorrow."

"So when you say there are no others like you," Elizabeth stared at Deirdre curiously, "you mean there are no others who have your level of…enhancements."

"Yes," Deirdre nodded, "Of all the Angels, my DNA is the most transformed. They refined the serums for Project Choir _based_ on my genetic code."

"So not a lie exactly," Jack snorted, "But an incredibly abbreviated answer to the question."

"I suppose you could put it that way," Deirdre shrugged, "Yeah."

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me about Choir," Jack pointed out, "Why didn't you say anything before now?"

"The same reason we split up the codes," Eliot brushed a thumb over Deirdre's collarbone again.

"To protect them," Deirdre maintained.

"From us?" Elizabeth questioned, "Why?"

"Because they're mine," Deirdre declared simply.

"Excuse me?" Jack raised an eyebrow, "They're _yours_?"

"I chose them," Deirdre responded softly, "The ones that survived. I may not have recruited all of them, but I was the one who made them into Angels."

"Azrael was the one who gave us our names," Eliot continued steadily, "We call them Seraphim and Cherubim and Powers and Guardians, but we're all Angels. Azrael was the one who made sure we survived the process. The mutation of our DNA. The physical training. The mental stress. Azrael was the one who released those who couldn't handle the transformation. Azrael was the one who came after us when we got in over our heads when they started sending us out. Azrael was the one who took the blame when something went wrong. And she managed to do all that while still going on missions _and_ getting her second degree."

"The missions were routine by then," Deirdre shrugged, "and I had an agreement with the college. As long as I could prove my knowledge to the professor of a particular subject, usually by taking their last three year's final tests, I would receive credit for the course. I spent whatever time I could with the Angels," Deirdre smiled softly, "I made sure that they knew when to follow orders and when to disobey. I made sure they knew when to speak up and when to keep quiet. I made sure they could still think for themselves. I made sure they didn't turn out like me. I made sure their real identities were kept secret. I gave up my life so they would not have to. I knew that Mika and I had to be related by blood. That was the most logical explanation for the way the serum worked so similarly on him. I know why there are only four Archangels. I keep all their secrets. I protect them and I always will."

"And you think they need protection from us?" Elizabeth asked quietly, "From me? Why?"

"Because we're WMDs," Eliot drawled, "And you're at war."

"Because the Angel Corps is a powerful tool," Deirdre continued smoothly, "And that kind of power is seductive," Jack opened his mouth and Deirdre shifted her gaze to him, "You cannot tell me you aren't tempted. Earth is at war, General, and you are losing. Can you honestly say you wouldn't use them to tip the scales in your favor? A quick word in someone's ear and that high-risk mission to save someone is suddenly approved. A quick word in someone's ear and suddenly that funding you wanted us available. Someone trapped on another planet with very little hope of rescue? Send in the Angels, they're better equipped to handle that sort of thing. If they get hurt, it's fine, they heal faster than the rest of us. They would be sacrificed for the greater good."

"Willingly sacrificed," Eliot added, "Because that's who we are. We give our lives, our souls, so that no one else has to. We protect the people who can't protect themselves."

"Can you honestly say you wouldn't use them to win your war?" Deirdre stared at Jack until he dropped his eyes to his lap.

"No, I can't," Jack confessed.

"And you," Deirdre turned to Elizabeth sadly, "You would do so much worse to them. You would try to save them. _De la même façon que vous essayez de me sauver_. You would keep them locked away in their rooms and let others die in their places. You wouldn't sacrifice one of us to save a hundred other lives. Standing by and watching that happen would destroy them. Death," Deirdre held up a hand towards Jack, "or destruction," Deirdre held up a hand towards Elizabeth, "Not much of a choice, is it?" Deirdre dropped her hands back to her lap, "The only way to protect them is to take them out of the equation." [French: The same way you try to save me.]

"I'm not saying it's a smart choice," Eliot looked over to Deirdre, "but I understand why she made it. They deserve to have normal lives."

"They can't have that if you know who they are," Deirdre finished, "They can't have that if they know that we're fighting – and losing – wars in two different galaxies."

"Their real names," Jack tapped the top of his tablet, "aren't in the files, are they?"

"No, sir," Eliot shook his head, "I brought the redacted files. You'll have a hard time figuring out who they are with the information you have there."

"So where do we go from here?" Elizabeth looked around at the group.

"Rae needs to come home," Eliot declared, removing his arm from around Deirdre's shoulders as he straightened.

"Even if it's not safe for her?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "From my understanding, Dee has many enemies on Earth, and that's not even taking into account the Trust."

"We can make it safe for her," Eliot insisted, "It may take a while, but we can do it."

"And how many people would have to die to accomplish that?" Jack questioned.

"As many as it takes," Eliot growled, "We're not talking about innocent lives here. We're talking about bad guys."

"You think you can take down the Trust?" Jack asked skeptically, "Just the two of you. By yourselves."

"To bring Rae home," Eliot's eyes flashed electric blue for a second, "I'd do it myself."

"She would be safer here," Elizabeth pointed out sensibly, "Both of you would. Why risk death by taking her back?"

"Everybody dies, ma'am," Eliot's drawl thickened, "No use tryin' to hide from it."

"What about the security risk you pose now?" Jack questioned, "The two of you know critical details about the SGC and Atlantis. What happens if someone tries to extract that information from you? What happens if one of those bad guys you were talking about gets control of her and uses her against us? Then what?"

"So you'd take us prisoner?" Eliot narrowed his eyes at Jack, "You've read her file, General, and you've read mine. You really think you can keep us here if we want to leave?"

"I'm still undecided. A neutral party, if you will," Jack smiled severely, "But you keep saying stuff like that and I'll make up my mind real quick. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Nemesis growled lowly as she stood. She glared at Jack and Elizabeth, then at Eliot as she stepped over him. She plopped down in Deirdre's lap, resting her head on Deirdre's shoulder.

"You're too big to sit in my lap, Nem," Deirdre's voice was soft as she wrapped her arms around the large cat, ducking her head to press against Nemesis' neck, "You weigh more than I do. Get off," Deirdre let go, "You had your hug."

Nemesis moved off Deirdre's lap, curling her big body in the small space between Deirdre and the edge of the couch, the end of her tail twitching.

"Dee?" Elizabeth asked tentatively.

"Nothing important, ma'am," Deirdre shook her head, "The longer a _mphaka_ stays bonded to a human companion the more sensitive they become to their emotional states. She's fine now. She just wanted a hug."

"Their…" Elizabeth's eyes widened, "Oh my god. Dee, I'm sorry. I didn't think…" Elizabeth sighed and looked across the table to Jack, "No one bothered to ask what she wanted to do. I promised her choices, Jack. As much as I want her to stay – both to keep her safe and because I value her insights and contributions to this expedition – if she wants to go back to Earth, I'm not going to stand in the way."

"Ma'am, it's not-" Deirdre started hesitantly.

"It _is_ your choice," Elizabeth insisted, "It _should_ be your choice, Dee. It's _your_ life."

"Rae?" Eliot tapped her arm and she looked up at him, "You can come home. I can make it safe for you. I can find someone to undo all the shit they did to your mind. I can take care of you."

"Don't cuss, Mika," Deirdre commanded automatically, "It sounds strange when you cuss."

"What do you want, Dr. Vaughn?" Jack cocked his head to the side, "You haven't really said much either way."

"I…" Deirdre looked between Eliot and Elizabeth before she ducked her head, "Does it matter? I wasn't completely honest with you and Dr. Weir. I assumed that meant I was going back no matter what I wanted."

"You weren't truthful before," Jack agreed, "But I understand why you weren't. I think you had a pretty good reason for what you did. So, I'll ask again: what do you want to do?"

Nemesis whined and nosed at Deirdre's leg.

"I don't know," Deirdre sank a hand in the fur at Nemesis' neck, "I…"

"Tell you what – why don't you sleep on it?" Jack offered, "I'm not leaving for another two days. Take that time to decide whether you want to stay here or go back to Earth."

"Yes, General," Deirdre nodded once.

"Hey, kid, look at me for a sec," Jack ordered gently.

Deirdre raised her head and her hand tightened in Nemesis' fur.

"I was pissed before," Jack admitted quietly, "I'm not anymore. Well, that's not true. I'm still a little pissed but I probably would've done the same thing in your shoes so I'll get over it. There's going to be consequences to your actions…just as soon as I can think of an appropriate punishment that you won't laugh off. That being said: it's up to you whether you stay here in Atlantis or not. You need to figure out what _you_ want. Don't think about what Elizabeth wants. Don't think about what Spencer wants. Don't think about what that mutant tiger in your lap wants," Nemesis snorted disdainfully, "Don't think about what's best for the expedition. Don't think about what's best for everyone else. Think about what's best for _you_. You tell me what you want and I'll make it happen. Promise."

"Okay," Deirdre let out a long breath and nodded, "Okay, I will."

 _*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*_

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Rodney walked rapidly through the busy hallway of the ship, "Those yield calculations are perfectly fine..."

"They are," Sam sped up to match Rodney's quick pace.

"...If your goal is to blow up the Stargate," Rodney finished.

Cameron rolled his eyes heavily as he followed behind Sam.

"Anything less," Sam insisted, "and it won't add enough energy to the matter stream to make a jump to the Stargate."

"Anything more and the Stargate will be destroyed," Rodney argued, "Look, you want to run high voltage, but you've only got an extension cord. It's impossible, and I told you so before we left Atlantis."

"No," Cameron pushed his way in front of Rodney to walk next to Sam, "you said it was borderline impossible."

"Yes, well we've crossed the border," Rodney snarked, "But hey, you know, don't let me stop you. Go ahead – calibrate your warhead, beam your bomb."

You know, Sam," Cameron looked over to her, "this is not the Rodney McKay I heard stories about."

"I know," Sam nodded seriously.

"What stories?" Rodney questioned, "What have you heard?"

"Well, for starters," Cameron stuck his hand in to his jacket pocket, "that you didn't know the meaning of the word 'impossible'."

"Well, I certainly know the meaning-" Rodney started.

"And that under threat of impending death," Cameron pulled his hand out of the pocket, holding it down by his side, "you could work absolute miracles."

"I suppose Sheppard told you that?" Rodney huffed.

"Yes, he did," Cameron declared.

"Yes, well, it's all true," Rodney agreed, "But I'm not under the threat of impending death and I don't have a-"

Cameron stopped abruptly and turned, holding the small object in his hand in front of Rodney's face.

"Is that…" Rodney looked at the thing curiously, "Is that supposed to be a lemon?"

Cameron looked down at his hand, and instead of the lemon John had given him that morning, there was a small, sickly-yellow, lumpy object. He squeezed the object gently and it burst open. Rodney jumped back quickly to avoid the explosion of hot pink glitter that covered most of Cameron's front.

"What the…?" Cameron exclaimed, "How did-what-how…what the _hell_?"

Rodney burst out laughing. Sam tried to hold back her growing smile as Cameron started cursing under his breath and attempted to clean the glitter from his uniform.

"Just so I'm clear…" Rodney took a deep breath to restrain his laughter, "Did you just threaten me with death by lumpy yellow glitter bomb?"

"I thought it was the lemon Sheppard gave me," Cameron brushed futilely at his pants, "I don't know how that… _thing_ got in my pocket. Damn it! This stuff isn't coming off."

"Not for at least three days," Rodney guffawed again and a giggle escaped Sam, "That's what they use in the explosives lab uses to test the EOD teams. Cadman gets it shipped here special order."

"Which one is Cadman?" Cameron scowled as he gave up brushing his uniform, "I think I need to a word with him."

" _Her_ ," Rodney corrected, "It wasn't Cadman though. She was off-world today," Rodney hooked a thumb over his shoulder behind him, "I'm going to go get started on some new calculations, see what I can come up with," Rodney smirked as he turned to leave, "Good luck cleaning up, Colonel Glitter."

Cameron glared after Rodney as he laughed his way down the hallway.

"You've got a little…" Sam pressed her lips together as she wiped a speck of glitter from Cameron's cheek, "Got it."

"Thanks," Cameron sighed and looked down at the floor, "I suppose I should figure out how to clean this up before Emerson finds out."

"Probably," Sam wiped her finger on Cameron's jacket.

"Perfect, Sam," Cameron said dryly, "That's a much better place for it."

"At least you look pretty in pink?" Sam snickered and Cameron glared at her, "I'm just gonna go…help Rodney with those calculations."

Sam moved carefully around the mess on the floor.

"Try a wet mop," Sam suggested over her shoulder, "It worked for the aftermath of one of Cassie's school projects."


	10. Heads or Tails

When Atlantis received word that the _Odyssey_ had successfully completed their mission, an impromptu 'We destroyed an Ori ship by blowing up a Wraith ship' party was quickly arranged. The kitchen spent most of the day cooking a large banquet, spread over two tables as a buffet. For dessert there were cookies, chocolate cake, and bright red punch that tasted more like Radek's not-so-secret hooch than any type of fruit. Some of the Marines rearranged the tables to form a makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. A couple of engineers rigged up a temporary sound system and one of the medical staff was doing a remarkably good job deejaying.

Elizabeth gave the majority of the staff the night off, so with both the _Odyssey_ and the _Orion_ in orbit, the mess hall was packed with people. John was wandering around the edge of the busy room, keeping an eye out to make sure things didn't get too out of hand. Most of SG-1 and AR-1 were spread out over several shoved together tables near the edge of the dance floor. Rodney and Sam were sitting at one end, punch cups forgotten in what seemed like an intense argument using cookies as props. Jack was sitting next to Sam, eating his cake as he watched the animated discussion going on next to him. Teyla and Elizabeth were in the middle, chatting quietly with Daniel. John noticed the soft smile on Teyla's face that usually meant she was talking about the Athosians. Radek gestured with his half full punch cup as he swayed closer to Evan, making the other man giggle and flush pink. Cameron was sitting at the other end of the table, his full attention on the dance floor. John followed his stare to see Vala wrapped around Eliot, one hand low on her back, the other curled around her hip as the two of them swayed in time to the music. Laura and Carson were dancing nearby, not pressed quite as close together as Vala and Eliot. Laura leaned over to whisper something to Vala that had Eliot chuckling and Carson blushing bright red. John noticed the kits weaving in and out of the crowd – with the notable exception of Nemesis – and wondered idly if they were patrolling or searching for susceptible people to beg for food.

When Atlantis flashed a burst of color behind his eyes for the fifth time in as many minutes, John sighed and followed the path she laid out, slipping around the crowd out onto the balcony.

Nemesis was laying in front of the entryway, head up and alert like a sphinx. She blinked at him twice before she huffed and tossed her head to the side. Assuming he had been granted permission, he stepped around her and walked to the end of the balcony. Deirdre was sitting with her right side pressed up against the wall, her feet dangling over the edge and her arms crossed over the lowest railing. She looked over to John as he sat down next to her, setting his drink down on his left as he mirrored her position.

"Sheppard," Deirdre greeted him politely.

"Vaughn," John draped his arms over the railing, "You're missing the party."

"I'm not big on parties," Deirdre shrugged.

John nodded silently. They sat in quiet for several minutes, the muted music from the party the only noise until Deirdre sighed.

"Was there something you needed, Colonel?" Deirdre asked evenly.

"Not really," John picked up his drink and took a sip.

There was another minute of quiet before Deirdre spoke again.

"Why are you out here if you don't need something from me?" Deirdre questioned, "I thought you'd be celebrating the destruction of the Wraith ship with everyone else."

"I was," John tapped his fingers on his cup, "Until Atlantis started flashing crimson at me. She seems to think I'm supposed to be out here instead."

"Really, Rosie?" Deirdre looked over to the wall, " _Again_? Do we need to have another conversation about privacy? I thought we agreed that you weren't going to interfere with people's lives unless it was an emergency situation. Bad City. Bad."

"I can't believe that Rosie thing stuck," John rolled his eyes.

"She likes having a nickname," Deirdre insisted, turning to look at John curiously, "And since she's such a mother-hen, Rosie fits her well."

"If you say so," John sipped at his drink again.

"May I ask you a somewhat personal question, Colonel?" Deirdre changed the subject awkwardly.

"Sure," John set his cup down, "Can't promise I'll answer though."

"You weren't part of the original expedition," Deirdre turned to face the darkening sky, resting her chin on her crossed arms, "Dr. Weir only offered you a position after she discovered you had the ATA gene. You were meant to come along as a glorified light-switch."

"Was there a question in there somewhere?" John drawled.

"How did you make the decision to come to Atlantis?" Deirdre asked quietly.

"I flipped a coin," John answered easily, "Heads I go to Atlantis, tails I stay on Earth."

"You flipped a coin?" Deirdre looked at John, studying his face intently.

"Yup," John nodded, "Why do you ask?"

"You don't like me," Deirdre declared.

"I don't _not_ like you," John hesitated, "I just…"

"It's fine," Deirdre interjected, "I don't like you much either."

"Okay," John drew out the word.

"It's kind of amusing actually," Deirdre continued staring at him and John shifted uncomfortably, "I'm pretty sure the reason we don't like each other, or at least the reason we don't trust each other, is because we're similar. We're both hiding who we really are so we gain an advantage. People underestimate us all the time and that gives us an edge. Most people don't see how smart you are, they don't see all the great things you're capable of…they don't see all that wasted potential. They don't see the brain behind the charm. I see it and it bothers me."

"I'm pretty sure I had this very same conversation when I was a teenager," John narrowed his eyes, "Did you have a point, Vaughn?"

"I'm getting there," Deirdre assured him, "Most people don't see how dangerous I am. They don't understand the violence I am capable of. They don't see the weapon behind the brain. Somehow, you see it."

"And it bothers me," John acknowledged.

"Jack gave me the choice of staying here or going back to Earth," Deirdre stated calmly, "Eliot's determined to take me back with him, no matter how many people who have to die for it to be safe. Elizabeth says she wants me to have the choice, but I know she wants me to stay here both my own good and for the good of the expedition. Ronon and Teyla have all but officially adopted me into their family. Rodney can't decide if he wants to throw me through the wormhole so he can be right all the time again or if he wants to chain me to his desk so he can pick my brain whenever he wants. You're probably the only person in the City who doesn't care either way whether I stay or go. I need an unbiased opinion of the situation. There are people on Earth I care about, people I want to protect. I have family there – family that I might put in danger if I go back. At the same time, family I want to get to know for the first time in my life. But…I've made a home in Atlantis. I've never had a home before. There are people I care about here too, ones that I want to protect. I can't do both and I can't decide what I want. If I go back, a lot of people are going to die, mostly bad guys but also some that are important to me. If I stay here, I'll probably never see those people again and important people here will die instead."

"Tough decision," John replied quietly.

"Yeah," Deirdre turned back to the sky and rested her chin on her arms again, "It is."

John leaned back on his hands, watching as the first stars appeared against the black sky.

"Good talk, Sheppard," Deirdre deadpanned, "Super helpful. Thanks."

"You're welcome," John drawled, "Glad I could help."

"You suck at this," Deirdre shook her head, "Rosie obviously miscalculated."

Several minutes passed in relative silence before Rodney came out onto the balcony, holding a small stack of cookies the size of his palm wrapped in a napkin.

"There you are," Rodney stepped around Nemesis, "Why are you two hiding out here on the balcony?"

"Fresh air," John moved his drink to the side and scooted over as Rodney plopped down between him and Deirdre, his back against the railing and his legs stretched out in front of him, "Where'd you get more cookies? Someone told me they were all gone before I got there."

"I had them stashed away," Rodney unwrapped his cookies, "They're really good. I don't know how the kitchen got a hold of the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. I was going to ask but I decided I didn't really want to know if there were weird alien things in them."

"Eliot made them," Deirdre informed him, "He got into an argument with Jack this afternoon about cake versus cookies. Jack says that cake is for celebrating and cookies are for holidays. El says that cake is the wrong choice for a party this size. Something about cutting the cake all at once and leaving it on the buffet for too long makes it dry out. He gets weird about stuff like that. El convinced a bunch of people to give him their Hershey bars in exchange for the cookie recipe."

"Freaky Jedi mind powers run in the family apparently," Rodney took a huge bite of cookie and moaned in delight, "Definitely worth it this time."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Rodney," Deirdre ordered.

Rodney rolled his eyes and continued making the happy noises as he finished chewing and swallowed.

"Geez, McKay," John muttered, "Do you need to be alone with that cookie?"

"Maybe," Rodney fiddled with the half-eaten cookie in his hand, "So the funniest thing happened on the _Odyssey_ yesterday."

"Actual funny," John wondered, "Or scientist funny?"

"Actual funny," Rodney sent John a quick glare, "Colonel Mitchell tried to threaten me with that lemon you gave him. Except…the thing he pulled out of his pocket definitely wasn't a lemon. It was a weird-looking, lumpy blob thing that exploded Cadman's special glitter mix all over him and the hallway."

"Bet he enjoyed that," John drawled.

"I think his uniform's still got glitter on it," Rodney smirked, "You should've seen his face. It was hilarious. He thought it was your stupid lemon right up until it exploded in his hand. Had no idea how it got in his pocket. I didn't even figure it out until the trip back to Atlantis," Rodney held out a cookie to Deirdre, "How'd you manage it?"

"Modeling clay," Deirdre plucked the cookie from Rodney's hand, "coated with thermal de-polymerization paint. The paint combined with body heat causes disintegration. El and I used it when we…worked together. Advanced tech was one of the perks of the job. I had some left over that I was saving for a special occasion. Modeling clay isn't really the best medium to use the paint, but it was the only thing I could find on such short notice."

"I knew you were acting weirder than normal," Rodney snorted, "You're not clumsy."

"Nope," Deirdre grinned as she bit into the cookie.

"Clumsy?" John asked curiously, "What are you talking about?"

"I have good hands," Deirdre wiggled the fingers of her bandaged left hand at him, "Even when I'm injured."

"Right," John eyed Deirdre warily.

"So…thanks, I guess," Rodney stuffed a huge piece of cookie into his mouth, "For, you know."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Rodney. You have no proof that I did anything," Deirdre took another small bite of cookie, "But you're welcome."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, idiot," Rodney smirked.

"Don't tell me what to do, jackass," Deirdre retorted.

John rolled his eyes at both of them.

"There were actually still cookies left when you got here, Colonel," Deirdre leaned back to peer around Rodney at John, "But I told everyone you were a jerk and didn't deserve cookies. Apparently, I've gotten a reputation for being a vindictive bitch and no one wants to risk my retaliation."

"Hey," John protested, "That's not fair. I like cookies too. Why don't I deserve cookies?"

"Really, Colonel 'Let's give the new guy a way to threaten Rodney with certain death?" Rodney gave him a flat look, "You think you deserve a cookie?"

"I didn't think he'd really threaten you with it," John defended, "It was just supposed to be a joke. A way to keep you on task instead of hitting on the amazing Sam Carter the whole time."

"Well, he did threaten me with it," Rodney took a deliberate bite of his cookie, "Or he tried anyway."

"Maybe if you apologized _really nicely_ ," Deirdre smiled innocently at John, "Rodney might consider letting you have one of his last two cookies."

"No way," Rodney clutched the cookies to his chest protectively, "These are the best cookies I've had in two years. I had to fight a _biologist_ to get these."

"Come on, Rodney," John pouted, "Can I please have a cookie?"

Rodney shook his head vigorously.

"Chocolate chip, Sheppard," Deirdre wagged her cookie at him, "Try this 'Rodney, my dearest friend, I am ever so sorry I gave that mean old Colonel Mitchell a lemon to threaten you. It was a terrible, horrible joke on my part because I get jealous when I hear you talk about how amazing Sam Carter is and I was being a childish jerk. In the future, I promise to talk about all my feelings with you instead of pulling a dumb prank and I promise to take your physical health and well-being seriously.'"

"My dearest friend?" Rodney gave her an incredulous look.

"Childish jerk?" John scowled, "Jealous?"

"Who even talks like that?" Rodney questioned.

"What?" Deirdre blinked at them, "Okay, maybe the part about talking about his feelings was a little far-fetched but I think the rest of it was pretty accurate."

"Was not," John argued.

"Was too," Deirdre maintained, "You know, instead of the whole stupid lemon thing, you could've talked to him. I did."

"You did?" John asked warily.

"I did," Deirdre nodded.

"She did," Rodney rolled his eyes, "Apparently, leggy blondes are bad for me and I should stay far, far away from them."

"Actually, that's not what I said," Deirdre corrected, "That's just what you heard. I said when you're attracted to someone you show off in front of them. If I remember accurately," John snorted and Deirdre shot him a quick look, "I compared you to a peacock and said that watching you flirt was like watching a car wreck."

"Give me that cookie back," Rodney grabbed for the cookie in Deirdre's hand but she held out of his reach, "Worst. Friend. Ever. You don't deserve cookies either."

"She has a point though," John took advantage of Rodney's distraction to grab one of his cookies, "It's painful to watch you flirt."

"Hey!" Rodney protested as John bit into the cookie, "That's mine. Cookie thief."

"Not painful," Deirdre grinned at Rodney, "Adorably awkward. I think it's hilarious."

"I hate you," Rodney declared, "Both of you."

"No, you don't," Deirdre finished the last of her cookie.

"Sorry about the lemon, Rodney," John gave Rodney a lopsided smile, "And thanks for the cookie."

"Hmph," Rodney grumbled and started on the last cookie, "I suppose since I didn't _actually_ get threatened with a lemon I can let the incident slide. If you do something like that again, you'll be taking cold showers for a year. And you owe me a chocolate chip cookie. A good one."

"Any ideas on how to get your brother to make more cookies?" John looked past Rodney to Deirdre, "These are actually pretty great."

"To get him to make you a special batch?" Deirdre replied easily, "He only cooks for two reasons."

"Which are?" Rodney looked at her curiously.

"Number one," Deirdre pointed towards herself, "He's cooking for someone he considers family."

"Which doesn't apply to me," John drawled, "What's number two?"

"He's trying to impress someone special," Deirdre smirked, "But you're not really his type."

"His type?" Rodney's forehead scrunched up in confusion.

"Wouldn't matter if I was," John snorted, "From the way Vala was draped around him on the dance floor, I'm pretty sure he has plans for the night."

"Wait, _really_?" Rodney looked between John and Deirdre, "Him and Vala? They've known each other for, what, like two weeks?"

"I think he was waiting to make sure Daniel wasn't interested before he made a move," Deirdre waved a doorway at the other end of the balcony, "It's not just Vala he's attracted to either. From what Rosie's singing, it sounds like the attraction is mutual...between all three of them."

"Don't teach the City to gossip," John groaned, "You wonder why she has privacy issues."

"Is it a genetic thing?" Rodney stared at Deirdre incredulously, "Were your parents swingers or something? Is there something in your shared DNA that makes you pre-disposed to threesomes?"

"Threesomes are fun, Rodney," Deirdre fake-whispered as she leaned close to Rodney, "You should try it some time. I bet you'd enjoy it. All those hands touching you at the same time…all that naked skin to taste…"

"I-" Rodney flushed red, " _What_?"

"Vaughn," John smothered a laugh, "Stop trying to break McKay's brain. We need his brain for fixing things."

"If you insist," Deirdre grinned and moved back from Rodney, "Did you want something, Rodney, or did you just come out here to share your cookies?"

"I…" Rodney shook his head, "Yeah, I came out here because I need you to come tell Sam I'm right."

"Are you right?" Deirdre stood and brushed off her pants, "Because I'm not going to tell her you are if you aren't."

"Of course I'm right," Rodney let Deirdre pull him to his feet, "We had this idea about a way to reduce power consumption when we dial Earth and cut down the travel time between galaxies considerably."

"Is that what you two were arguing about?" John picked up his cup as he stood.

"Discussing," Rodney corrected, "Yes. Sam thinks that-"

"You can tell me inside," Deirdre interjected, "Would you grab me a water? I'll be there in a minute."

"I'm not your errand boy," Rodney scowled as he left the balcony, "Hurry up."

"Grab a snack for Nem too, please," Deirdre called after him. She laid a hand over John's forearm to stop him from following.

"What was it?" Deirdre asked quietly.

"What was what?" John wondered.

"You flipped a coin," Deirdre reminded him, "Head you go, tails you stay. What did it land on?"

"Shouldn't that be obvious?" John smirked, "I'm here, aren't I?"

Deirdre sighed and dropped her hand back to her side, "Never mind."

"I don't know what it landed on," John's steady voice stopped Deirdre next to Nemesis, "I flipped the coin but I put it back in my pocket without looking," Deirdre looked back to John and he continued, "I knew what I wanted to do, I just didn't realize it until the coin was up in the air."

"That…" Deirdre tilted her head to the side, "…actually makes sense. Thank you."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," John complained.

"Oh, please," Deirdre rolled her eyes, "We both know sensibleness is not your strong suit."


	11. Within Reason

**Quick note about the foreign language translations: A couple people (here and on AO3) mentioned that they didn't like the new format for the translations. I don't particularly like using this format either. It's kind of a pain in the ass to scroll down and read/edit. I'm using it to get an accurate word count for my NaNo. I fully intend to go through the story on December 1st and change it back to the way I had it in Angelus Mortis (with the translation at the end of the paragraph). Please be patient with me until then and, as always, thank you for taking the time to read my story!**

 **FOB = Forward Operating Base**

* * *

Deirdre paced back and forth in Elizabeth's office, taking exactly four steps in one direction before turning sharply on her heel retracing the four steps back. Elizabeth stood in front of her desk watching while Jack stretched out in one of the guest chairs. Eliot leaned against the wall by the control panel for the door, Nemesis sitting at his feet, both of them tracking Deirdre's movements.

"This is…" Deirdre frowned as she scrolled through the tablet in her hands, "…not even remotely close to what we agreed to."

"That was our old agreement," Jack said, "This is the new one."

"You can't just-" Deirdre protested.

"Yes, I can," Jack insisted.

"This contract is for two years," Deirdre continued scrolling, "If the expedition ends before the term expires-"

"I'm sure Landry can find something for you to do at the SGC," Jack folded his hands over his stomach, "Or if that doesn't work out, I'll find something else for you in DC."

"You're more likely to die before then anyway," Eliot pointed out, "Eaten by space vampires…blown up by alien tech…shot by one of your co-workers…"

"Not helping, El," Deirdre didn't bother to look up at him as she paced, "This list of duties is-"

"Comprehensive," Elizabeth supplied, "You've been doing most of them unofficially anyway. We've eliminated the unnecessary work you've been doing for me and added things that will be more beneficial long-term. It's nothing more than you can handle."

"But it says I'm supposed to-" Deirdre frowned again, "No less than a dozen? I don't want to have to deal with-"

"You did say we needed an intelligence division in Atlantis," Elizabeth reminded her, "Who better qualified than you to run the department?"

"How am I supposed to pick-" Deirdre questioned.

"You aren't," Jack gestured towards Eliot, "He is."

"I have three months before I have to be in Chicago for my next job," Eliot drawled, "I told the General I'd train up some of the SGC people before I go. I know what you're looking for. I'll send the General my recommendations and he can assign them to you. I know a couple people outside the program that would work too."

"Like anyone _you_ know would pass a background check," Deirdre huffed, "What about the IOA?"

"They already think you're working for Jack," Elizabeth leaned against the front of her desk, "Since he's doing some restructuring of Homeworld anyway, it'll seem like nothing more than a title change."

"It'll seem like a promotion," Deirdre muttered, "Since I'm getting minions. They won't like it. Am I getting a raise too?"

"Nope," Jack answered easily, "You get paid the same."

"I like being Elizabeth's assistant," Deirdre complained, "Why can't I just keep doing that?"

"Because the IOA is already suspicious of you," Jack explained patiently, "and the circumstances surrounding you joining the expedition. Not to mention the way you dealt with the Trust situation. And the whole Michael thing. This is the simplest way to keep the IOA and anyone else who might be looking from poking around in your background. We're hiding you in plain sight."

"By making me a government employee?" Deirdre pivoted sharply, "There's hiding in plain sight and then there's wearing a neon sign saying 'here I am, come get me'."

"Civilians don't carry guns," Eliot gestured to the gun strapped to Deirdre's thigh, "Disgraced CIA officers don't carry guns. That's your neon sign. Not an employment contract."

"Yes, they do carry weapons," Deirdre maintained, "When they're in a FOB. Atlantis may be civilian run, but it's still in a warzone."

"Technically, non-military personnel aren't allowed to carry weapons on base," Jack argued, "Unless they receive special authorization from the Military Commander, the SGC, or Homeworld Command."

"So give me authorization," Deirdre paused scrolling for a moment before continuing on, "You're allowed to do that."

"Which is what I'm doing," Jack rolled his eyes, "by making you an agent. The paperwork we put together before you left last year wasn't technically legal. You've been in a sort of limbo for the past year. This contract makes everything above board so the IOA won't find some loophole to get you removed."

"They're not going to-" Deirdre began scrolling again.

"The deal you made with Woolsey will still be viable," Elizabeth reminded her, "The plan might even work better this way, since you'll be able to send teams off-world. It's not going to work forever though. The IOA will eventually figure out that you're not really on their side. When that happens, they're going to look closer at your personnel file and employment records."

"No cover is a hundred percent," Eliot stroked a hand over Nemesis' head, "A contract is another layer for them to get through."

"You can't restructure an entire section of the government," Deirdre finally stopped pacing to look up at Jack, "just because you feel like it."

"I'm not," Jack replied evenly, "Homeworld Command isn't a separate section of the government. You know very well the President can't create secret military branches out of thin air. Adding a division to an existing organization is slightly less complicated. I am the head of the Military Operations Division of Homeland Security. I am restructuring my particular division to better serve our needs. You're not the only person getting a new job title. You _are_ the only one being a pain in the ass about it though."

"I'm not being-" Deirdre stopped scrolling through the tablet.

"You are," Eliot interrupted, "You wanted to stay here, Dee."

"As Elizabeth's assistant," Deirdre scowled at him, "Not as a federal agent."

"Will you just sign the damn contract?" Jack groaned in frustration.

"If I sign this…" Deirdre looked from the tablet to Elizabeth.

" _Il ne changera rien entre nous_ ," Elizabeth assured her, " _si cela est ce que vous êtes inquiet au sujet_." [French: It won't change anything between us] [French: if that's what you're worried about.]

" _Mais_..." Deirdre shifted on her feet, " _Si je signe cela, tout le monde saura qui je suis. Qu'est-ce que je fais ici. Comment suis-je censé être invisible si tout le monde me connaît? Comment suis-je censé vous protéger?_ " [French: But…] [French: If I sign this, everyone will know who I am. What I'm doing here. How am I supposed to be invisible if everyone knows me? How am I supposed to protect you?]

" _Tout le monde vous connaît déjà,_ " Elizabeth replied gently, " _Vous ne devez pas être invisible ici._ _Il existe une menace plus caché pour moi. Les seules choses que je besoin de protection contre les e-mails sont de Rodney et vos soi-disant vampires de l'espace._ " [French: Everyone already knows you.] [French: You don't need to be invisible here. There is no more hidden threat to me. The only things I need protection from are Rodney's emails and your so-called space vampires.]

"This is a terrible idea," Deirdre mumbled, turning to glare at Eliot, "This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn't come here, this wouldn't be happening."

"Not my fault," Eliot shook his head, "I was gonna bring you back with me. You chose this."

"Yes, but it makes me feel better to blame you," Deirdre grumbled.

Jack let out an exasperated sigh as he repeated, "Will you just sign the damn contract?"

"I want a badge," Deirdre stared at Jack, "An official Homeland Security ID."

"Fine," Jack agreed quickly, "Sign it."

"I'm adding that in," Deirdre started typing on the tablet, "And if I'm going to be in charge of intelligence out here, I want final say on anyone in my department. I decide who stays and who goes. If you want me to do this, I don't want to have to fight other departments to get the personnel I need."

"Within reason," Jack amended, "You can't exceed the already set limits of personnel without my written authorization. Everyone who works for you has to agree to the transfer. You can't transfer someone just because you feel like it."

"Between twelve and twenty-four…" Deirdre kept typing as she looked up at Jack, "I want that alien guy that was on your team a couple years back, the Kelownan – Jonas Quinn. From what I've read of his file, he'd make an excellent analyst. With some training, he'd be a decent addition to a field team."

"I'll see what I can do," Jack shrugged, "He may not want to come to Pegasus."

"His planet is technologically advanced for the Milky Way," Deirdre looked back down to the tablet, "The Ori will be coming after them sooner rather than later. Offer him relocation to Atlantis, he'll take it. What are the chances of me getting Vala?"

"Vala?" Jack asked curiously, "Really?"

"My requirements are different than yours, General," Deirdre replied smoothly, "I'm not looking only for physical discipline or big brains. Intelligence work requires good people skills and flexible thinking. Vala has both. She would be a brilliant field operative."

"I'll talk to her," Jack nodded, "But I doubt she'll agree. She seems pretty attached to SG-1 already."

"Are you going to bitch if I want to hire non-Americans?" Deirdre questioned, "Or aliens from either galaxy?"

"It's an international expedition," Jack pointed out, "It'd be a bit hypocritical to employ only American intelligence agents. As for aliens, I'm not sure how the paperwork would work out but I have no problem with them working for you."

"Teyla came up with a compensation system for the Taranians working here," Deirdre waved a hand at him, "I can talk to her about something similar for the people I have in mind."

"You already have people in mind?" Elizabeth wondered.

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre paused in her typing to glance at Elizabeth, "I have quite a few sources that could be officially employed as assets by the expedition."

"Of course you do," Elizabeth shook her head fondly.

"Look over the changes I made before I sign it," Deirdre handed the tablet to Jack, "I highlighted the things I adjusted," Deirdre looked over to Elizabeth again as Jack started reading, "Am I allowed to have an office? I'll need some sort of secure meeting space. I'm sure you don't want me to use your office every time I need to have a confidential discussion with someone."

"Did you have a particular space in mind?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"There are a few rooms that would work," Deirdre said thoughtfully, "My first preference is currently designated as storage though."

"Talk to Major Lorne and Captain Randall," Elizabeth ordered easily, "See if the three of you can work it out."

"What if there are military personnel here I'd like to transfer?" Deirdre looked back to Jack, "I assume since it's the 'Military Operations Division', they could be laterally transferred to my department and wouldn't have to resign from the military."

"Technically, yes, but that's between you and Sheppard. He won't be happy if you start poaching his guys. If you find someone that you really think is necessary and Sheppard gives you trouble, I can run interference for you," Jack handed the tablet back to her, "Same thing with Elizabeth and McKay. Everything looks fine, sign it."

"What about supplies?" Deirdre narrowed her eyes at Jack, "Do I get a budget for that? I'll need surveillance equipment, weapons, items to trade for information…"

"You'll have funds available for use," Jack answered calmly, "but it comes out of Homeworld's budget so you can't go crazy. I'll have Master Sergeant Thomas forward you all the details."

"My department will be autonomous?" Deirdre questioned, "If I need to send a team somewhere in a hurry, I don't want to have to track down someone to get permission."

"Again, within reason," Elizabeth responded carefully, "If we're under lockdown for any reason, your people aren't exempted from that."

"You don't have free reign to do whatever you want," Jack clarified, "But, yes, you are independent from any other departments and your missions will be on a need to know basis. You are required to share any relevant intel gathered with the senior staff here and I expect regular reports to be sent to me."

"What about-" Deirdre started.

"Will you quit stallin' and sign the contract?" Eliot interrupted, "You can work through your commitment issues some other time. There's a ship waiting to leave and you're delayin' everyone."

"Asshole," Deirdre glared at Eliot.

Elizabeth picked up a stylus from her desk and held it out to Deirdre.

Deirdre sighed and took the stylus, signing her name neatly at them bottom of the tablet.

"This is a terrible idea," Deirdre shoved the tablet and stylus towards Jack, "Here."

"You said that already," Eliot barely refrained from rolling his eyes, "Several times."

Jack took the tablet and added his signature before handing the stylus back to Elizabeth.

"There," Jack declared as he stood, "Done. _Finally_. Congratulations, Special Agent Vaughn – you are now officially employed by Homeworld Command as the head of Atlantis' newly formed Intelligence Division."

"Don't screw it up," Eliot smirked.

Deirdre flipped him off as he pushed away from the wall.

"One final thing before I leave," Jack drew her attention back to him, "I did say there would be a punishment for deliberately misleading us."

"Have you decided?" Deirdre straightened to attention.

"I talked it over with Dr. Weir," Jack glanced over to Elizabeth and back to Deirdre, "We decided it would be a two-part punishment, since you deceived both of us."

"For the first part," Elizabeth started calmly, "We've decided that you will be responsible for informing the senior staff of your updated duties and change of status. You will provide every member of the senior staff with both written and verbal notifications in _English_ and answer any questions they may have about the situation."

"Elizabeth," Deirdre complained, "Do you have any idea how much trouble that's going to be?"

"That's what makes it a punishment," Elizabeth paused shortly, "Special Agent Vaughn."

"Do I have to answer their questions honestly?" Deirdre scowled.

"Within reason," Elizabeth's lips twitched into a smile, "You obviously don't have to answer any questions that would compromised your cover or Mr. Spencer's."

"And the second part?" Deirdre asked evenly.

"Dr. Zelenka has a team assigned to catalogue all the Ancient artifacts in," Elizabeth paused to turn and pick up a tablet on her desk, tapping the screen before reciting, "Level 5, Section 37, Room 4. He's requested that someone with a naturally occurring ATA gene assist in activating and identifying everything."

"Light-switch duty?" Deirdre's expression fell, "For how long?"

"Until that particular room is finished," Elizabeth set the tablet back on the desk, "Dr. Zelenka estimates four days. Minimum."

"All at once?" Deirdre's shoulders slumped forward.

"Spread out over the course of the next week," Elizabeth pronounced, "If you try to con someone else into helping, you'll be assisting with the next three cataloguing projects."

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre agreed sullenly.

"Cheer up, Dee," Eliot bumped his shoulder against hers, "It could be worse."

"Says the man who's never had to do it," Deirdre brushed a hand over Nemesis' head as the large cat squeezed in between her and Eliot, "You have no idea how horribly boring it is."

"Better you than me," Jack tucked the tablet under his arm, "Well, time for us to get going. I think we've kept Colonel Emerson waiting long enough."

"I'll walk you down," Elizabeth pushed away from her desk.

Jack let Elizabeth walk through the door first, Deirdre, Eliot, and Nemesis following closely behind.

"Sir, ma'am," Chuck nodded to Jack and Elizabeth, "Colonel Emerson says the _Odyssey's_ ready to leave when you are."

"Thank you, Chuck," Elizabeth brushed a hand over the top of his console as the group continued through the control room.

All of AR-1 and most of SG-1 were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, Sam and Rodney arguing over the top of a tablet while everyone else chatted quietly.

"All set, General?" Cameron questioned.

"All set," Jack nodded.

"Which one did you end up signing?" Sam looked up from the tablet to Deirdre.

Deirdre turned to Jack and narrowed her eyes, "There was more than one? Meaning you had more than one contract for me to choose from _before_ you got here?"

"Too late now," Jack grinned.

"You're such an asshole," Deirdre muttered under her breath, " _Вы никогда не были собирается сделать меня оставить_." [Russian: You were never going to make me leave.]

"Hey," Jack protested, "Is that anyway to talk to your boss, Special Agent Vaughn?"

"Special Agent?" John wondered, "What happened to Operations Officer?"

"Restructuring," Deirdre huffed, "General O'Neill made me sign a two-year contract with Homeworld, so I guess I'm a federal agent now."

"Contract?" Rodney yanked the tablet from Sam's hand, "With Homeworld Security? Does that mean you're leaving? You can't leave. I have stuff for you to do. If you leave, I'll be stuck with Zelenka."

"No, Rodney, I'm not leaving," Deirdre sighed fondly, "Looks like you'll have to share that Nobel after all."

"Nobel?" Daniel asked curiously.

"It's classified," Rodney sniffed haughtily.

"What about you?" John looked over to Eliot, "Staying or going?"

"I'm going," Eliot glanced over to Deirdre and back to John, "Make sure she doesn't collect too many people, Colonel. She has a habit of adopting strays."

"I haven't _collected_ anyone," Deirdre protested, "I don't _adopt strays_."

Eliot looked from Deirdre to Rodney pointedly.

"That doesn't count," Deirdre's cheeks pinked, " _Er ist mein Freund_." [German: He's my friend.]

"I'll keep an eye on her," John smirked as he turned to Rodney, "On both of them."

"Good luck. You're going to need it," Eliot tapped both hands on his chest, " _Umarmung_." [German: Hug.]

Nemesis stood on her hind legs, putting her front paws on Eliot's shoulders and bumping her forehead against his.

" _Gut sein_ ," Eliot massaged Nemesis' neck gently, "Take care of her." [German: Be good.]

Nemesis chirped in agreement as she pushed way from Eliot, dropping to all fours before she padded over to Deirdre.

"I can take care of myself, El," Deirdre stepped over to Cameron, hooking a finger in his tee-shirt collar to pull it to the side, "Is that a hickey?"

"Uh," Cameron flushed red, "No?"

"What is a…" Teyla's forehead crinkled in confusion, "hickey?"

"A love-bite," Vala supplied smugly, "and yes, it is."

"You didn't have to mark your territory, El," Deirdre looked over her shoulder to Eliot, " _Sofern Sie nicht auf halten diese ein zu planen_?" [German: Unless you plan on keeping this one?]

" _Sieh mich nicht_ ," Eliot held up his hands, " _Es war die Piratenprinzessin_. I know better than to leave evidence." [German: Don't look at me.] [German: It was the pirate princess.]

Ronon came closer to look over Deirdre's shoulder at Cameron, "Got him pretty good."

"Are we really having this conversation right now?" Cameron flicked a nervous glance over to Jack.

"I didn't hear anything," Jack smirked.

"Must be all those explosions, sir," Sam smothered a grin, "They've effected your hearing."

"Wow," Daniel came over to join Ronon behind Deirdre, "That's very…purple."

"This isn't happening," Cameron closed his eyes, "This is _not_ happening right now. Can we please leave now? Galaxy needs saving, no time for gossip."

"All right, that's enough," Vala moved over next to Cameron, removing Deirdre's hand and placing hers on Cameron's shoulder, "Leave poor Cameron alone. The love-bite is a reminder of a wonderful evening spent between three consenting adults. Fun was had by all and that's all you need to know."

"Three?" Jack raised an eyebrow, "Really, Mitchell?"

"You're not listening, sir," Sam reminded him.

"Right," Jack gestured towards Sam.

"Three, Cam?" Sam turned to Cameron with a grin, "Really?"

"Definitely a genetic thing," Rodney snorted.

"Thanks a lot, Vala," Cameron groaned as he opened his eyes, "Do you not remember that talk we had at _all_?"

"What?" Vala slipped an arm around his waist, "General Jack said he wasn't listening. No one else is bothered," Vala looked around at the group, "Are you?"

There was a chorus of no's and nope's before Vala turned back to Cameron with a brilliant smile, "See?"

"It was lovely to have you all here," Elizabeth pressed her lips together to hold back her smile, "But you'd better be on your way now. I hope your quest goes well, Dr. Jackson."

"Yeah," Daniel nodded, "Me too."

"Bye, Mika," Deirdre smiled softly at Eliot, " _פרוש כנפיך._ " [Hebrew: Spread your wings.]

"Bye, Rae," Eliot returned her smile, " _ולעוף אמיתי._ " [Hebrew: And fly true.]

The two groups separated and Elizabeth reached up to tap her earpiece, "Colonel Emerson, they're ready for you."

* * *

 **Timeline thing - Eliot mentions having to be in Chicago for a job in three months. This is referring to the pilot episode of Leverage (The Nigerian Job) when they go after Pierson Aviation. I think this pushes the Leverage timeline up a couple years, but I'm not sure.**


	12. Seen

John was eating breakfast with his team, listening to Rodney complain about a piece of tech one of his scientists found earlier in the week when Deirdre stomped up to the table, a stack of four tablets in her hands and Nemesis trailing behind her.

"Sign this," Deirdre shoved one of the tablets in front of John's face.

"Good morning, Vaughn," John drawled, holding out a piece of bacon for Nemesis, "Good morning, Nemesis. And how are you two today?"

"I spent four days locked in a room with engineers," Deirdre's jaw tightened, "while they gawked and muttered and squinted at a bunch of tech that turned out to be the Ancient equivalent of seven lava lamps and two broken blenders. Then I spent the three days shifting duties around with Chuck and Evan and Elizabeth to make sure everything still gets done. Then I spent twelve hours composing emails to every member of the senior staff even though it's been well established that no one other than Elizabeth bothers to read them. Then I spent two days convincing half a dozen people to transfer to my department. I spent most of last night arranging help with clearing out my new office. And then this morning, I spent two hours arguing with Captain Randall about moving inventory around only to find out that _you_ didn't sign any of the paperwork that Evan gave you a week ago. Meaning I don't have official authorization to clear out the inventory in my office or to transfer the personnel I need. So in answer to your question, Colonel," Deidre glared at John, "I am annoyed with you for preventing me from getting my department set up. Sign the tablet or I'm going to hit you with it."

"How much coffee have you had this morning?" Rodney asked warily.

"I haven't," Deirdre shook the tablet at John, "Sign."

John set down his fork and took the tablet from Deirdre to start scrolling through it as Nemesis happily trotted over to sit down next to Ronon.

"Have you had you morning meal yet, _kaina_?" Teyla wondered, "You are welcome to join us."

"I need to get this taken care of first," Deirdre shook her head, "But thank you, _kua'ana_."

"Where is this room?" John pulled the stylus off the side of the tablet to sign the screen.

"Bottom of the central tower," Deirdre plucked the tablet from his hand and replaced it with another, "Sign this too."

Ronon bumped Deirdre's foot with his and held up a piece of bacon. She took a small bite and shot him a grateful look as she chewed quietly and swallowed. Ronon tossed the rest of the bacon to Nemesis, who caught it easily in midair.

"Why is Lt. Kemp transferring?" John frowned at the tablet, "He has the ATA gene, doesn't he? I thought he liked it here."

"He's not transferring out of Atlantis," Deirdre rolled her eyes, "If you'd read beyond the first few lines, you'd see that he's transferring to the Intelligence Division. He's not going anywhere. Evan's already found a replacement for him on AR-8."

"We have an Intelligence Division?" Rodney looked up at Deirdre suspiciously, "Since when?"

"Since Elizabeth decided to forward my proposal to Jack," Deirdre huffed, "Since Jack actually bothered to read it. Since he decided to be an asshole and make me sign a contract. Since he decided to put me in charge of the department because apparently I'm the most qualified person in the expedition to run it. Which is bullshit because I can think of at least three other people who could do it just as easily. I told him putting me in charge was a terrible idea but he doesn't listen very well."

"Wait, what?" Rodney's forehead scrunched up in confusion, "I thought the General came here because you were in trouble."

"I was," Deirdre shrugged, "Hence the being volunteered for cataloguing."

"Kemp's a good Marine," John looked up at Deirdre, "He's a solid team leader. I'm not sure how I feel about you taking my guys."

"Obviously you weren't in that much trouble," Rodney snarked, "If you got promoted from Elizabeth's assistant to head of your own department."

"Kemp _is_ a good Marine," Deirdre looked down at John, "He'll be an even better operative. I'm not going to break him anymore than you would," Deirdre shifted her gaze to Rodney, "It's not a promotion. It's a lateral transfer. My official title and some of my duties changed, that's all. And I have an office now, but according to Elizabeth, I was supposed to have one of those all along."

"I assume you talked to him about this already," John tapped his fingers on the edge of the tablet.

"I did," Deirdre nodded, "He already agreed or I wouldn't have written up the orders for you to sign."

"Does this mean we're going to have a bunch of spies running around the City?" Rodney questioned, "What exactly is the Intelligence Division supposed to be doing?"

"I doubt they'll be running all the time, Rodney," Deirdre deadpanned, "That would be exhausting."

"Ha ha," Rodney scowled at her, "You're hilarious."

"I explained it all in the emails I sent out," Deirdre touched the top of the tablet in John's hands, "There's more transfer orders to approve, Colonel. Start signing. Basically, we'll be doing the same thing intelligence agencies do on Earth. Providing intel, doing covert ops, establishing back-channel lines of communication. We don't know much about the Pegasus Galaxy right now. Hopefully, this department will be able to change that."

"You are attempting to create a spy network for Atlantis," Teyla stated calmly, "Much like the Genii."

"Something like that," Deirdre pointed at the tablet in John's hands, "Sign, Colonel. Only much more effective and not quite as visible as they are. We'll be providing intel analysis for the expedition – threat assessments, new elements to watch out for, things like that."

"How many of my guys are you taking, Vaughn?" John looked back to the tablet and continued scrolling through, "Cadman _and_ Baumann?"

"Yours? Four. Sign," Deirdre tapped the edge of John's tablet again before reaching across him to hand another tablet to Rodney, "From Dr. McKay, two. I would like to speak with you sometime in the next week, Teyla. There are a couple Athosians I'd like to recruit and I'd like you to be there when I explain the situation to them. When I get my teams formed, I'm hoping you'll be willing make a couple of introductions to your off-world contacts, give them a place to start."

"Two of mine?" Rodney frowned down at the tablet in his hands, "What are you going to do with-No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not. You can't take Collins. He's one of the few people I don't have to constantly supervise. You can have…" Rodney scrolled down, "Dr. Grant the sociologist. I don't need sociologists. But you can't have any of my engineers. You don't need an engineer. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find decent engineers?"

"Stackhouse too?" John scowled up at Deirdre.

Deirdre looked between John and Rodney's stubborn faces several times before she sighed heavily. Ronon snorted and handed Nemesis a sausage.

"Yes, Sheppard, Stackhouse too," Deirdre stated evenly, "His gate team has one of the highest mission success rates in the entire Stargate program due in large part to the contacts he has established and maintained during his two years here. He is an extremely valuable asset and I am attempting to utilize his talents in a more productive manner. He has agreed to spend two weeks training his replacement on AR-5 before he starts working for me. Yes, Rodney, I do need an engineer. I need someone who can modify equipment for my operatives. I need someone who can identify useful tech in the field while keeping a level head about it. I need an engineer without the ATA gene so he doesn't get adversely effected by any dangerous Ancient tech. I need a non-linear thinker who can translate technobabble into something everyone can understand without getting snippy about it. Collins meets all those requirements. I would like to remind both of you," Deirdre looked between them again, "that I have already spoken to each of these people to lay out _in detail_ what I will be requiring of them. They agreed to the transfer knowing full well what I expect. I am not taking them away from the City. You will still be able to utilize their skill sets should you need to do so. I would also like to remind you that I have over a decade's worth of experience working in the intelligence community. In all the agencies I have worked for, all the teams I have assembled, all the operatives and analysts I have worked with, I have lost exactly eight people. Eight out of two thousand, three hundred, seventy-one people. That's .337 percent – less than _one percent_. Every single death was completely unavoidable and absolutely necessary. I do not waste talented people. I would also like to remind you," Deirdre's expression hardened, "that I am only informing you of these transfers as a courtesy. I have authorization to recruit whatever personnel I need. If you choose not to sign the orders, I will simply go over your head to Dr. Weir and General O'Neill. It will take longer, but I will do it if necessary."

"But…" Rodney started.

"They are not interfering with your job, _kaina_ ," Teyla spoke gently, "Or doubting your abilities. I believe they simply do not wish to relinquish valued personnel to you."

"Sit down," Ronon reached behind him to drag an empty chair over their table, "We'll share food. You're getting grumpy."

"I don't have time for…" Deirdre trailed off as Teyla raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not signing anybody over to you," John set the tablet down next to his tray, "Not without a better explanation. Either explain what's going on in a way I can understand or wait six weeks to get General O'Neill's approval."

"I emailed you several days ago," Deirdre grumbled, "Can you just read that?"

"Is the email less than a thousand words?" Rodney questioned.

"No," Deirdre sulked, "But it's all in English this time."

"There are many questions to be answered," Teyla continued calmly, "I have several of my own. Things that I would prefer to have clarified before I agree to help. Perhaps if you were to join us, we could discuss the situation over our meal."

"Did Elizabeth talk to you?" Deirdre narrowed her eyes at Teyla.

"Yes," Teyla smiled serenely, "She explained the conditions to me. She asked me to remind you that she was quite specific in what was to occur and that you agreed to the terms. You are attempting to use your irritation as a distraction from any questions we might have about this new development. Elizabeth informed me that you would attempt something of the sort."

"Sit," Ronon nudged the chair to bump Deirdre's leg and Nemesis chirruped in agreement.

"Damn it," Deirdre dumped the tablets onto the table, "Let me go grab coffee first. Stay here, Nem."

"Get food, _kuahine_ ," Ronon called after Deirdre as she left, "You're grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy," Deirdre snapped over her shoulder, "And quit feeding her junk!"

Ronon grinned as Nemesis took the offered piece of pancake from his hand.

"What terms?" Rodney asked curiously, "What is Red supposed to be doing?"

"Elizabeth has ordered Dee to inform the senior staff of the addition of a new department to the expedition," Teyla explained, "She is to answer any questions we have about the mandates of her unit, as well as any questions we might have about the duties performed by personnel transferred there."

"Like she's going to tell us the truth," Rodney rolled his eyes.

"She is to answer the questions honestly," Teyla continued at Rodney's gleeful look, "Any reasonable questions."

"She can still hit you," Ronon spoke around a mouthful of food, "If you say something dumb."

"I don't say dumb things," Rodney protested.

"Or rude," Ronon added, "Just because you're her favorite doesn't mean she won't do it."

Nemesis made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh as Rodney started spluttering.

"What? I'm not-she's not-" Rodney's cheeks pinked, "Why does everyone around here have to resort to physical violence?"

Teyla looked over her shoulder before she turned back to the table.

"Deirdre does not like being seen," Teyla declared quietly, "She prefers to work from the shadows – to blend into the background. She does not enjoy being the center of attention and she has much difficulty accepting praise. She believes that this new job will thrust her into the light so she is fighting against it. She sees Elizabeth's order to answer our questions as a punishment."

"Is it?" John asked carefully.

"No, though Dee was told it was," Teyla shook her head, "This…Intelligence Division is Elizabeth's attempt to give Deirdre more freedom as well as General O'Neill's attempt at shielding her from the IOA. When I spoke to Elizabeth earlier this week, she explained that she and the General have been working on a way to better utilize Deirdre's skills for quite some time."

"Been wasting her," Ronon paused in his eating to look up at John, "Since Weir doesn't need a guard anymore."

"Red was Elizabeth's bodyguard?" Rodney's eyebrows shot up, "I thought she was just here to look for traitors. You know," Rodney waved a hand, "the whole Trust trying to blow up the City thing."

"Been guarding her since she got here," Ronon scowled slightly, "You didn't notice?"

"So why's Elizabeth making Vaughn answer our questions now?" John leaned back in his chair to study Teyla thoughtfully, "Other than the fact that Elizabeth's in a lot less danger now."

"Elizabeth believes if there is less secrecy surrounding Deirdre's presence here," Teyla answered carefully, "We will be more inclined to trust her and she more inclined to trust us. I read the email explaining the directives of the intelligence unit when it was first sent. I had concerns that I brought to Elizabeth, which prompted our discussion. My main concern was the potential abuse of power this…spy network could cause, as evidenced by many of our dealings with the Genii. Elizabeth explained, and I agree, that Deirdre is one of very few people in the galaxy that has no desire for power of her own. She wants what is best for the greater good, no matter the cost. Whether she has realized it or not, Deirdre has chosen the protection of Atlantis as her personal crusade. She will do whatever it takes to ensure Atlantis' future. According to Elizabeth, some of the methods Deirdre has chosen to employ in the past would be considered…disagreeable here," John snorted as Teyla continued, "This new job will be a way for her to contribute in her own unique way and still give her acceptable boundaries within which to operate. Answering our questions should put to rest any remaining doubts we may have about the legitimacy of her position as a senior member of the expedition."

"Hmmm," a thoughtful expression came over Rodney's face, "I suppose I can see how spies might be useful here. But I don't want anyone to be prying into my life. I'm going to have a lot of questions."

"And that is acceptable," Teyla looked over her shoulder again to see Deirdre coming towards them slowly, "However," Teyla turned back to Rodney with a serious expression, "if you make this more difficult than it needs to be, Dee will not be the one to hurt you. Do you understand?"

"What?" Rodney half-pouted, "Why is that statement directed towards me?"

"Bring up my email on this thing," John slid his tablet over to Rodney, "Might as well take a look so I know what to ask."

"You can't bring up your own email?" Rodney snatched up the tablet and started typing one-handed.

"I can," John drawled, "But you can do it faster."

"You're still using the same password?" Rodney frowned as he handed the tablet to John, "You're supposed to change it every couple weeks. At least."

"Then I'd forget it," John set the tablet down where he could see it and picked up his fork again, "Besides, I don't check my email that often. Lorne tells me all the important stuff."

"But he's on the _Orion_ half the time now," Rodney typed on his own tablet, "He can't tell you the important stuff if he's not here."

"I trust my people," John shrugged, "They know what they're doing. If there's a problem I need to know about, someone will bring it to me."

"It baffles me that you're in charge of so many people," Deirdre plunked her tray down and sipped her coffee as she sat down, "and you still manage to avoid anything even remotely resembling administrative work."

"Takes a lot of talent," John smirked, "And a little bit of luck."

"I don't think she meant that as a compliment," Rodney snorted.

"Shall we start the inquisition then?" Deirdre set down her cup and started unwrapping her silverware, "I have thirty-four minutes until I'm supposed to speak with Captain Randall again."

"Only thirty-four minutes?" Rodney complained, "That's not enough time. What if I have more questions when the time's up? I'm not giving you Collins. Pick another engineer. You can have that big blonde woman…the one that can't make decent coffee and can't speak English half the time."

"Her name is Greta and she speaks perfect English when she's not around you," Deirdre rolled her eyes as she set a small plate with a selection of meats on the floor in front of Nemesis, "I'm not recruiting Collins for his coffee-making abilities, Rodney. You only have thirty-four minutes; do you really want to waste your time arguing with me when you know I'm going to win?"

"You can't have Collins," Rodney repeated firmly.

"Thirty-three minutes," Deirdre smiled politely.


	13. Getting Started

Rodney didn't bother to look up from his tablet as he swiped a hand over the panel and the door slid open in front of him.

"I need you to look at this and tell me if the translations are right," Rodney declared, "I think someone adjusted my translation program again without telling me because this sounds like a bunch of gibberish."

"Hi, Rodney," Laura greeted him cheerfully, "Why don't you come on in?"

Rodney stopped walking abruptly and looked up from his tablet. There were eight people sitting around a rectangular metal table on one side of the windowless room. Laura Cadman was sitting at one end of the table, dressed in the standard Atlantis gray uniform, turned sideways in her chair to smile up at Rodney. On her left was a tall, dark-skinned man with pale blue eyes in Marine camo uniform bearing the name Baumann. Next to him was a petite Asian woman with long dark hair and honey brown eyes that Rodney vaguely recognized as Dr. Nora Grant. The blue-eyed blonde man next sitting stiffly next to her was Dr. Bryan Collins. At the opposite end of the table from Laura was a spiky, dark-haired man with green eyes and an amused smirk, his Marine camo uniform with a single silver bar on each side of his collar and the name Kemp stitched on his breast pocket. Nate Stackhouse was stretched out in the chair next to Kemp, his head tilted slightly to study Rodney with intelligent brown eyes. The last two chairs were occupied by women Rodney didn't recognize. A muscular woman with close-cropped russet-brown hair and forest green eyes set in her rounded face– her tan leather vest leaving lots of bronzed skin exposed – sat on Laura's right side. The woman next to her had nearly identical round features, but her hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders.

There were several mugs of coffee and half empty bottles of water spread out over the center of the table. Each person had a tablet in front of them and as Rodney's curious gaze slid over each of them, they reached forward to flip the tablet screen-side down.

"Lt. Cadman," Rodney replied awkwardly, "What are you doing here?"

"I work here, Rodney," Laura smiled easily, "We all do."

"Dr. McKay," Collins nodded crisply.

"Collins," Rodney narrowed his eyes, "I see you haven't changed your mind about doing real work."

"He is doing real work," Deirdre insisted.

Rodney turned his head to see Nemesis sitting primly in front of a smaller, rectangular metal table in the opposite corner of the room. A large cream cat with a line of uneven gray spots down each side of her head to her front paws was laying at Nemesis' feet. The cream and gray cat lifted her head to huff at Rodney, but Nemesis put a heavy paw on her head to push it back down. There were three laptops open on the table and half a dozen tablets stacked neatly on one side of the table. On the other side was a large glass bowl filled with a colorful assortment of wrapped jolly ranchers and a smaller bowl filled with what looked like miniature dog biscuits.

"Give me a second, Rodney," Deirdre looked over the top of her laptop as she continued typing, "We're just figuring out a training schedule that works for everyone."

"You're busy," Rodney shifted towards the door as everyone at the table kept staring at him, "I can come back…some other time."

"It's fine," Deirdre finished typing and stood to come around the desk, "Have you met Sharda and Valeri?"

"No?" Rodney looked to the two Athosian women, "Maybe?"

"We have not spoken before, Dr. McKay," the short-haired woman answered calmly, "Though Teyla Emmagan has spoken of you often. I am Sharda," she gestured to the second woman, "This is my younger sister Valeri."

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. McKay," Valeri tipped her head forward in greeting.

"Um," Rodney smiled nervously, "It's…uh…you too. I mean, it's nice to meet you too. I think? Unless Teyla has been saying bad things about me and then it's probably not nice that we're meeting."

"Teyla speaks highly of you," Sharda assured him.

"What did you need me to look at?" Deirdre drew Rodney's attention back to her.

"Oh, right," Rodney shoved his tablet towards her, "You know Sam and I have been consulting on this gate bridge idea and I'm pretty sure we've got it worked out."

"Yes, I've seen the updates you've been sending Elizabeth," Deirdre took the tablet from him, "Your team is scheduled to start scouting space gates in a couple days. The _Orion_ has been tasked with the search as well."

"Right," Rodney leaned close to tap on the tablet, "I was going through the database to make a list of addresses to start with and some of the translated descriptions are-"

"Gibberish, yes, I heard," Deirdre started scrolling, "I think Dr. Oliver may have adjusted the translation program a couple days ago."

"Which one is Oliver?" Rodney questioned, "And why is he messing around with things he shouldn't be?"

"He's a linguist that recently joined the expedition," Deirdre frowned at the tablet, "Came over on the _Odyssey_."

"He's the guy with curly blonde hair," Stackhouse looked around the table, "About…what? Five five, five six?"

"Five five," Baumann answered, "I'd say…about a buck seventy-five."

"Wears really thick glasses," Kemp added, "and squeaky tennis shoes."

"Yet somehow manages to sneak up on people all the time," Baumann snorted.

"He's always lurking around," Laura gave an exaggerated shiver, "Gives me the creeps."

"How did…?" Rodney looked around the table curiously, "Am I the only one who didn't know who he was?"

"Possibly," Laura turned to the Athosian women, "Do you guys know who Dr. Oliver is?"

"He stares at women's backsides when he thinks no one is looking," Valeri made a disgusted face.

"He gives me the…" Sharda's lips twitched into a smile as she looked at Laura, " _creeps_ as well. Insists everyone call him Kyle."

"He's supposed to Dr. Jackson's counterpart in Atlantis," Collins informed him, "But he only speaks five or six different languages."

"Two of which are Milky-Way based, which makes them somewhat useless here," Grant nodded, "You're the only one in the room who doesn't know who he is, Dr. McKay. But I'm sure there are lots of people in the City who don't know him yet. He's only been here a couple weeks."

"There is a reason I recruited these particular people, Rodney," a small smile flashed over Deirdre's face before she started typing on the tablet, "You may want to keep an eye on Dr. Oliver for a while."

"It _was_ gibberish?" Rodney leaned close again to watch the changes Deirdre was making on the tablet, "I _knew_ it."

"Either he doesn't have even a basic understanding of computer code," Deirdre responded, "Or his grasp of the Ancient language leaves a lot to be desired. He entered half the symbols upside-down."

"No wonder it didn't make any sense," Rodney scowled furiously, "What a moron. It's a good thing I noticed this before something more serious happened. Why do they keep sending me these useless people?"

"No one sent him to _you_ ," Deirdre corrected absently, "Elizabeth wanted another linguist out here and since Jack gets territorial around Daniel, General Landry sent Dr. Oliver instead."

"But he's in my department," Rodney snapped, "I can't have people making stupid mistakes like this. Do you have any idea how long it took us to write that translation program in the first place?"

"Nineteen days," Collins interjected, "But that was only the first version. I'm sure it's much more with all the revisions we've put into it."

Rodney shot Collins a cold glare before turning his attention back to the tablet again.

"What do we even need a linguist for?" Rodney grumbled, "The gate translates all the Pegasus languages anyway and we already have a program that translates Ancient. People make mistakes, programs don't. Now I have to waste my valuable time fixing his stupid mistake. It'll take an hour to restore the program to the previous settings before Dr. Gibberish got it."

"I believe the idea was to have a linguist revise the program even further," Grant explained, "Also, to have him teach more of the expedition to read, write, and speak Ancient since so few of us understand it. If more people understood the language, we would have more time to work on other projects, rather than waiting for database translations."

"I suppose that makes sense," Rodney admitted grudgingly, "But this…Oliver person is _clearly_ an idiot who has no idea what he's doing."

"Try this," Deirdre handed the tablet to Rodney.

"This makes more sense now," Rodney scrolled through quickly before he looked over to Deirdre, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Deirdre replied carefully, "Will you do me a favor, Rodney?"

"Depends," Rodney huffed, "What do you want now?"

"Two things," Deirdre moved over to her desk to grab a purple candy from the bowl, "First, suck on this," Deirdre tossed the candy to Rodney as Kemp snorted in amusement, "You haven't eaten for at least four hours and your blood sugar is getting low."

"You can't know that for sure," Rodney insisted.

"Rosie," Deirdre smirked, "She sings differently when you get hangry."

" _Hangry_?" Rodney questioned, "That's not a real word. You made that up. You can't just make up words."

"Hangry is a combination of two words," Laura's eyes twinkled in amusement, "Hungry and angry. It's how you get when you haven't eaten in a while and your blood sugar drops."

"Are you going to try to deny it?" Deirdre raised an eyebrow.

Rodney made an annoyed face as he tucked the tablet under his arm to unwrap the candy, popping it into his mouth and shoving the wrapper into his pocket.

"Grape?" Rodney complained, "I like cherry better."

"Don't even think about it, Tim," Deirdre pointed a finger at Kemp when he opened his mouth to speak, "Stacks, you mind?"

"Sure," Stackhouse leaned forward to flick Kemp in the ear, "Get your mind out of the gutter, sir."

"That's assault on a superior officer, Sergeant," Kemp pouted at Stackhouse as he rubbed a hand over his ear, "Even if Vaughn told you to do it."

"You think you'd have learned your lesson the first three times," Baumann shook his head at Kemp, "Sir."

"Second," Deirdre rolled her eyes as she turned back to Rodney, "Before you rip Dr. Oliver a new one, pull up his personnel file and find out if he knows anything about computers. I'm pretty sure he subscribes to Dr. Jackson's 'old school paper is better than electronics' theory. Dr. Jackson wouldn't have recommended him as a linguist for the expedition if his Ancient was that bad. If it's the computer programming he has a problem with, send him to Miko for a couple weeks. She has enough patience to supervise him while he's learning our systems and she's smart enough to keep him away from anything important. If he screws up again after that, then you can yell at him until he quits."

"But…" Rodney sighed heavily, "Ugh, _fine_. As long as I'm not the one that has to deal with him because I don't have time for that kind of thing."

"Thanks, Rodney," Deirdre lifted up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, "Now, go away so we can finish our meeting."

"I'm going," Rodney eyed the bowl of candies on her desk, "Where'd you get jolly ranchers anyway?"

"I stole them from Eliot's bag before he left," Deirdre grinned.

"Of course you did," Rodney rolled his eyes.

"El doesn't really have much of a sweet tooth," Deirdre shrugged, "So he either brought them to bribe people – which is unlikely because he knows chocolate always goes over better – or he brought them for me knowing I would steal them at some point during his visit or the trip back– which is far more likely because he knows I like sweet things."

"She can kick your ass, sir," Stackhouse slapped a hand over Kemp's mouth, "Blindfolded."

Kemp waggled his eyebrows up and down as he shoved Stackhouse's hand to the side, "It might be worth it."

"Are you sure you recruited the right people?" Rodney asked skeptically.

"Yes," Deirdre tilted her head to the side, "Most of the time anyway."

"Hmmm," Rodney looked around the table again, "If you say so."

"Rodney?" Deirdre tapped his shoulder.

"What?" Rodney looked back to her.

"Leave," Deirdre pointed to the door.

"I'm going," Rodney repeated as he turned towards the door.

"Bye, Rodney," Laura called after him, "See you later."

Rodney flinched at her cheerful voice as the door slid shut behind him.

 _*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*_

John followed Elizabeth down the stairs from the jumper bay, "I think the word we're looking for is…"

"Obnoxious?" Rodney offered from behind them, "Unctuous?"

"Either one of those works," John agreed.

"Then again, the townspeople seem to love him," Rodney pointed out, "so maybe there's something to his medicine."

"Sounds like a snake oil salesman to me," John stopped in front of the walkway to Elizabeth's office where Deirdre was waiting, "but it might be worth having Beckett check it out."

"Well, I'm sure Carson will be able to get us an answer pretty quickly," Elizabeth accepted the offered tablet from Deirdre and started reading it, "So it's back out to scout for gates?"

"Yes," Rodney nodded eagerly, "Right away."

"It's not a race, Rodney," John drawled.

"The _Daedalus_ won't be here for another ten days anyway," Deirdre reminded them, "So unless one of your teams managed to adapt the Asgard transporter technology to the _Orion_ , there's no way to collect the Stargates until then."

"Or a tractor beam," John coughed into his hand, "That would be cool too. You got anybody working on that yet?"

"No, I don't have anyone working on a tractor beam," Rodney snarked, "We have more important projects to finish before we start worrying about _tractor beams_. Like, I don't know, figuring out how to make ZedPMs. Or better shields for the City."

"That's a no then?" Deirdre questioned, "On getting the _Orion_ transporters?"

"We're working on it," Rodney glared at her, "It's not as easy as it sounds."

"This looks fine," Elizabeth handed the tablet back to Deirdre, "Let me knows if it changes. Do you have someone available to accompany Carson back to M23-526? I'd rather not send him alone but sending an entire team seems a bit excessive."

"They've been itching to get started actually," Deirdre looked over to John as he sniffled, "Pre-industrial?"

"Yeah," John nodded, "There's a guy claiming to have cured every ailment in the village. Doesn't appear to be dangerous at all but…"

"But he has six wives," Rodney snorted, "He's way too annoying to have six gorgeous wives without something else going on."

"Sgt. Stackhouse is probably the best choice then," Deirdre tilted her head as she stared at John curiously, "His specialty is charming locals. He's got more patience than most and he can take Jadzia with him in case they run into any trouble."

"An overgrown leopard does not qualify as adequate back-up," Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, "It's not like she can actually do anything to help if there's a problem."

"Tell that to the scars on the Colonel's arm," Deirdre sighed and stepped forward, reaching up towards John's face, "Hold still, moron."

"Hey," John moved his head to the side before she could touch him, "Watch it."

"Relax, Sheppard," Deirdre replied softly, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"What are you doing?" John asked cautiously.

" _Ego conatur ut auxilium_ ," Deirdre pressed her fingers gently on either side of John's nose, " _Frigus nimium durus est vobis ut sinus et dolore medico circummunire instituit_." [Latin: I'm trying to help.] [Latin: Your cold is causing you sinus pain and you're too stubborn to go see a doctor about it.]

"Was I supposed to understand any of that?" John glanced over to Elizabeth nervously.

"Apparently," Elizabeth looked between Deirdre and John, "You're being stubborn about your health."

"It's just a cold," John insisted, "I'm fine."

"You're going to get sick if you stand that close," Rodney frowned at Deirdre, "He's been spewing out germs all day."

" _Ego non adepto male_ ," Deirdre responded absently. [Latin: I don't get sick.]

"She doesn't get sick," Elizabeth translated automatically.

"There," Deirdre dropped her hands and stepped back, "Feel better?"

John took a deep breath, a puzzled look on his face as the two-day old, dull ache in his head faded away.

"Yeah, actually," John admitted warily, "What did you do?"

"Old home remedy," Deirdre shrugged, "You should be fine for the rest of the day. You really should go see Carson in the morning though. Ignoring your cold won't make it go away."

"I think if Carson had invented a cure for the common cold," John drawled, "We'd have heard about it by now."

"There may not be a cure, but I'm sure the medical staff has something to ease your symptoms. Please report the infirmary in the morning," Elizabeth raised an eyebrow as John opened his mouth to reply, "Before your symptoms get any worse and you have to be removed from active duty."

"Fine," John rolled his eyes and turned to Rodney, "What are you smiling at?"

"It's funny to see them gang up on people," Rodney grinned, "People that aren't me."

"If you want lunch before we head back out," John scowled at Rodney, "You'd better hurry up. We're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes?" Rodney's smile fell, "It'll take me five minutes to get all this gear off and five more minutes to put it all back on."

"Better hurry up then," John ordered.

"I have to go find Stacks," Deirdre smirked and patted Rodney's arm as she stepped past him, "I'd pack snacks if I were you, Rodney."


	14. Problem

**WARNING! There is a mild discussion of rape/non-consensual sex in this chapter. Please do not read if it will upset you.**

* * *

"I can't believe you brought him here without permission," Elizabeth looked up from the isolation room window to Carson's smiling face.

"I didn't think you'd mind," Carson's grin widened as Lucius made another face at the camera in front of him.

"You didn't think I'd mind?" Elizabeth asked incredulously, "You know the protocols. You even helped come up with them."

"There's so much he can offer us!" Carson declared enthusiastically.

"Is this the same guy," John looked over to Carson skeptically, "that said he could cure my cold in a week?"

"I know my business, Colonel Sheppard," Carson insisted, "He happens to have created several medicines that are quite remarkable."

"Really?" Elizabeth gestured to where Lucius was now using the camera set-up to look in his wide-open mouth, "That guy?"

"Aye," Carson nodded, "He also possesses many valuable herbs and spices..." Carson paused dramatically, "and _gourds_."

Rodney joined Elizabeth in staring at Carson incredulously, "Did you just say gourds?"

"Yes, Rodney, gourds," Carson answered snippily, "We don't know everything, despite what you may think. He could prove to be a very powerful ally," Carson's voice took on a dreamy tone, "He's a very wise and kind man."

Carson looked back to the isolation room with a wistful smile.

Elizabeth and John exchanged a cautious look.

"Are you feeling all right?" Elizabeth questioned evenly.

"What do you mean?" Carson wondered.

"It's just that you're acting a little…" John trailed off.

"…Smitten?" Elizabeth suggested.

"I had another word in mind," John scoffed.

"This is not something to treat lightly," Carson scolded them.

"No, it isn't," Elizabeth agreed, "You've brought a stranger to Atlantis without prior approval. Now he knows about the city, as well as our gate address."

"Lucius would do nothing to harm us," Carson assured them, "He comes in peace, as our friend. You have his word and mine on that."

Rodney opened his mouth to give Carson an appropriately scathing retort but stopped when he saw Deirdre dragging Stackhouse into the small observation room, her hand tight around the skin of his wrist. Nemesis was herding Jadzia into the room behind Stackhouse, growling lowly every time the cream and gray cat tried to veer from the path.

"I want you to stand right here, Nate," Deirdre moved Stackhouse to a position next to the door, "I do not want you to move from this spot without my permission. I do not want you to speak except to answer a direct question. Do you understand?"

"Whatever you want me to do, Dee," Stackhouse gave her a dopey smile, "You're the best."

"Nemesis," Deirdre released Stackhouse to gesture towards the two large cats, "Keep Jadzia in line. Don't let her leave."

Nemesis snapped her teeth at Jadzia when she tried to go towards the window.

"Colonel Sheppard," Deirdre came over to stand by him and look down at the isolation room, "I assume you have guards on our guest?"

"Two outside his room," John nodded, "Problem?"

"My people do not fuck up this colossally," Deirdre snapped, "Of course there is a problem. There is a very big problem and he's standing in the isolation room."

"Lucius wouldn't cause any-" Carson started.

Deirdre cut him off by reaching over and pressing her right hand to his cheek, "I'd like it if you stop talking now, Carson."

Carson blinked at her several times before breaking out into a brilliant smile.

"Of course, my dear," Carson agreed.

"Good boy," Deirdre kept the hand on Carson's cheek as she turned back to a stunned Elizabeth, "Damn it. He's as bad as Stackhouse and Jadzia. I'm fairly positive they're all under the effect of some sort of drug."

"Drugged?" Elizabeth questioned, "How? With what?"

"I'm not sure yet. The effects are similar to a date-rape drug," Deirdre shifted her stare to John, "It's made them extremely pliable and open to suggestion. You and Dr. McKay seem to be fine, so I don't think it was ingested. No one else is effected thus far, but we should start doing blood tests to be sure. How much contact did he have with the general population before he was put in isolation? Anyone who's been in contact with him…"

"Yeah, including my team," John reached up to tap his earpiece, "Control room, this is Colonel Sheppard. Chuck, lock down the Stargate. No one in or out until you hear from Special Agent Vaughn _and_ Major Lorne. Both of them. They're in charge until further notice. Get security to round up anyone who was within…"

"I'd say three feet," Deirdre recommended.

"Anyone who was within three feet of our guest," John continued, "Hazmat protocols. Put them in isolation until they're cleared by-"

"Dr. Jordan has already started blood tests," Deirdre informed him quickly, "She's called in people to help."

"Until they're medically cleared by Dr. Jordan," John continued, "I also want increased security around Isolation Room Three. No one goes in the room without a hazmat suit. Lavin doesn't come out for any reason. Contact Major Lorne, tell him to get in touch with Special Agent Vaughn and she'll explain the situation. Have everyone report to Major Lorne until I'm cleared by medical," John tapped the earpiece off again, "How bad is this, Vaughn?"

"Ma'am," Deirdre turned back to Elizabeth, "Whatever they've been dosed with is…" Deirdre paused, "Well, see for yourself."

Deirdre dropped her hand from Carson's cheek to wrap it around the skin of his wrist.

"Carson," Deirdre smiled politely, "You know what would make me really happy? If you sang Row, Row Your Boat for me right now."

"Absolutely, my dear," Carson took a deep breath, "Row, row, row your boat. Gently down the stream."

"Tell him to stop, Rodney," Deirdre spoke over Carson's continued singing.

"Carson," Rodney commanded sharply, "Shut up."

Carson only smiled at Deirdre and continued singing.

"Thank you, Carson," Deirdre interrupted, "You can stop now. That was lovely."

"Are you sure?" Carson asked excitedly, "Because I can keep going if you'd like."

"No more singing for now," Deirdre pointed over to where Stackhouse was still standing, "But I would like it if you would go over there and stand by Stacks quietly while the rest of us talk."

"Whatever you want, Deirdre dear," Carson nodded.

Deirdre released his wrist and he moved over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Stackhouse, both of them still grinning at Deirdre.

"What the hell?" Rodney scowled at Deirdre, "How did you do that?"

"Whatever Mr. Lavin did to them," Deirdre ignored Rodney's question to focus on Elizabeth, "seems to have affected their brain chemistry. Their pleasure centers are…" Deirdre paused, "Over-stimulated? They are extremely eager to please. It's like…" Deirdre slipped into rapid Greek.

"Dee," Elizabeth held up a hand, "I don't speak Greek. Can you explain it in a language I know?"

"Sorry, ma'am," Deirdre took a deep breath, " _Leurs réactions sont similaires à la mienne quand vous me mettre bas._ They have made a direct link in their brains between experiencing personal pleasure and Mr. Lavin being happy. They want to please him - to keep him happy so they can be happy. _Je peux recentrer leur attention vers moi, mais il est difficile et je doute que cela va durer plus de quelques minutes._ " [French: Their reactions are similar to mine when you put me down.] [French: I can redirect their focus towards me, but it's difficult and I doubt it will last more than a couple minutes.]

"Is it permanent?" Elizabeth questioned, "This…link?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," Deirdre glanced over to John and Rodney, "You said he had six wives?"

"Yeah," John's expression darkened, "You think he's been drugging those women so they'll sleep with him?"

"It's unlikely that he'd be able to keep that many women consistently drugged," Deirdre replied carefully, "What about the rest of the village? How did he interact with them?"

"They all seemed to adore him," Rodney shifted on his feet, "Is he…is it possible he's somehow drugging an entire village just so…" a horrified expression twisted onto Rodney's face, "Oh my god…That's-he's…what if he poisoned the water supply or the food or something?"

"I think you two would have been affected were that the case," Deirdre moved over to look down at the isolation room thoughtfully, "Hmmm. It has to be something on or around Mr. Lavin's person. Something that can affect the _mphakas_ as well, since Jaz is being ridiculous. That limits the possibilities. I don't think it's spreading because Stacks has been in contact with several different members of the medical staff and they aren't suffering any ill effects. It's possible Mr. Lavin is the one who's ingested the drug…so anyone who's in prolonged contact with him is affected. It'd be simpler for him to dose himself regularly rather than the entire village. Did he bring anything with him?"

"A small bag, yes. I asked Stiles take it for inspection," Elizabeth tapped her earpiece, "Dr. Weir to First Sgt. Stiles. Please secure Mr. Lavin's belongings in biohazard containment immediately. After they're secured, take his things to Dr. Jordan in the infirmary and tell her I ordered _everything_ be tested," Elizabeth looked over to John, "Ask Dr. Jordan to put together a small medical team to go back to M23-526 and collect samples. I'll contact Major Lorne about a security detail. I'll meet them in-"

"You were gate room when he arrived," John interrupted, "You need to be tested as well."

"Dr. Vaughn will meet them in the conference room in twenty minutes to explain the situation," Elizabeth tapped off her earpiece, "John, I want you and your team tested first. You were exposed more than the rest of us. Dr. Vaughn…"

"I'll brief Major Lorne, ma'am. We'll take care of everything until you and Colonel Sheppard are cleared," Deirdre looked back up at Elizabeth with a blank expression, "Permission to speak freely, Dr. Weir?"

"You only ask when you're about to say something you think I'm not going to like," Elizabeth rubbed a hand over her forehead, "And I can already guess what you're going to say this time. Permission granted."

"Setting aside the fact that this…" an angry sneer came over Deirdre's face as her eyes darkened to a stormy gray, "…this _грязь_ has most likely been mind-fucking an entire village of people and raping at least half a dozen women – probably more – on a regular basis, he now knows of the existence of Atlantis and our gate address. The security risk he poses is...significant." [Russian: filth]

"Thank you, Special Agent Vaughn," Elizabeth replied carefully, "I will take that into consideration when I decide Mr. Lavin's future with us. I'd prefer if you wait to question him until I can both Colonel Sheppard and myself can be present."

"If you insist, ma'am," Deirdre's jaw tightened.

"I insist," Elizabeth turned to John and Rodney, "Gentleman, do I need to call security to escort you to the infirmary?"

"No, we're good," John shook his head.

"All three of us are going now," Elizabeth assured her.

"Atlantis can send you an alert," John's eyes unfocused, "If we're not there in five minutes."

"While you're at it," Deirdre rubbed a finger behind one ear, "Ask her to restrict mental interaction until this is resolved. A safety precaution in case someone tries to do something stupid. Carson and Stacks both have the gene and we don't know how many others are effected."

"What are you doing?" Rodney looked down at his hand and started rubbing his fingers together, "Are you…what the hell is that?"

"What's going on?" Elizabeth looked between the three of them warily.

"He's having a conversation with Rosie," Deirdre kept rubbing behind her ear, "A rather loud conversation."

Rodney's head snapped up to stare at John, "Did you just add a subroutine to her program?"

"Yeah," John's eyes focused again and he shrugged, "Well, I asked 'Lantis to add a couple safeguards anyway. She worked out the details."

"How did…You-she-how…" Rodney's face reddened, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you tell me what you were going to do? I could've recorded the interaction. Do you have any idea how useful it would be to actually _see_ the changes being made instead of finding them afterward?"

"Dr. McKay," Elizabeth cautioned, "Colonel Sheppard, was it wise for you to do…whatever you just did before you're cleared by Dr. Jordan?"

"Probably not," John shoved his hands into his pockets, "But it needed to be done."

"Ma'am," Deirdre finally dropped her hand back to her side, "Rosie wouldn't have done it so quickly for anyone else. I was listening to the changes the entire time and the adjustments she made are negligible. She's…" Deirdre tilted her head to the side, "…temporarily re-ordered the gene priority?"

"You heard their interaction?" Rodney narrowed his eyes, "You heard the changes she made? What does 'temporarily re-ordered the gene priority' mean?"

"It means you'll have to open doors manually," John drawled.

"Yes, I always hear her. Standing so close to," Deirdre waved a hand at John, "Colonel Super-Gene here, how could I not hear what they were doing? She has a…chain of command list for the ATA positives," Deirdre tilted her head again, "No, that's not entirely accurate. An order of priority list perhaps? She's suspended access for any gene-bearer who was within three feet of Mr. Lavin – which includes several people high up on her list," Deirdre nodded to John and Rodney, "She's moved Evan and me to the top of the list temporarily. We're supposed to tell her when she can take everyone else off the restricted list. She's also set a timer that's currently counting down in my ear," Deirdre shot John a quick glare, "and I assume Evan's as well. I think it's going to sound an alarm if the three of you aren't in the infirmary by the time it finishes counting down."

"Infirmary, both of you," Elizabeth held up a hand to forestall Rodney's response, "We can discuss it further after we've dealt with the current situation."

"Come on, Rodney," John tugged on his elbow to get him walking towards the door, "I'll explain on the way."

"I'll be right behind you," Elizabeth stepped close to Deirdre and lowered her voice, "Exactly how much control does he have over the City? I thought you had to be sitting in the chair to interact with her. If John can simply ask and make her change her programming…"

"Although Rosie wouldn't have made the changes as quickly for anyone else," Deirdre whispered carefully, "She wouldn't have done it _at all_ if so many of us hadn't been thinking the same thing."

"Meaning?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Ancient tech is…" Deirdre paused, "From what everyone says – well, everyone I've spoken to about it anyway – Atlantis is a constant presence for us. The feeling is always there, in the back of our minds, manifested through different senses and different ways for each of us. We can't _not_ interact with the City. Word spread quickly about what's going on and one of the first security concerns most gene-bearers had was Rosie. A lot of people other than Sheppard were worried about the situation. She made temporary changes to ease some of our concerns."

"All right," Elizabeth nodded, "I think I'm going to have to talk to John and Rodney to get more details about Rosie. After things have settled a bit."

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre inclined her head, "If you want to head to the infirmary now, I'll make sure Stacks and Carson make it to isolation."

"Yes," Elizabeth moved towards the door, "I'm going now."

Deirdre turned and sighed when she saw Nemesis holding Jadzia's tail in her mouth as the cream and gray cat strained towards the doorway, "Really, Jaz? How far do you think you're going to get? Have some dignity."

Nemesis dropped Jadzia's tail to smack a paw into the back of Jadzia's hind leg and growl.

"Bring her to isolation, Nem," Deirdre moved forward to grab Stackhouse's wrist in one hand and Carson's in the other, "Come on, boys. We're going for a walk."


	15. Value

**WARNING! This chapter contains a very frank discussion of rape/sexual assault. There is also a small section that could be interpreted as suicidal tendencies. Please do not read if these things will upset you.**

* * *

John, Ronon, and Teyla sat on one side of the U-shaped conference table while Carson, Rodney, and Evan occupied the other side. Elizabeth sat at the center, Deirdre in her customary seat on Elizabeth's left. There were tablets and half full coffee cups spread down both sides of the table.

"I'm so embarrassed," Carson buried his face in his hands, "I can't believe I brought him here."

"You weren't in control, Carson," Elizabeth assured him, "You were under the influence of a drug."

"I feel just awful about what happened, Elizabeth," Carson dropped his hands to look at Elizabeth sincerely, "When I think about what that… _person_ could have done…"

"Luckily, we were able to contain the situation quickly," Elizabeth glanced over to Deirdre, "Before there was any further breach of security."

"Our _guest_ has been moved to a holding cell," Evan announced, "Once he realized he wasn't going to get his way, he was a lot less cooperative. Until Ronon."

"Did you shoot him?" John looked over to Ronon.

"Wouldn't let me," Ronon grunted.

"Shoulda shot him," John declared.

"Big guy gave him the death stare," Evan replied dryly, "We put him in restraints, sir, if that makes you feel better."

"Not really," John leaned back in his chair.

"A full transcript of our interview with Mr. Lavin is on your tablets," Deirdre gestured around the table, "Dr. Jordan's report is on there as well, if you're interested in the details of either."

"The shot we got," Rodney looked down at his tablet and back up to Deirdre, "That's going to work, right? He won't be able to make us do stuff?"

"No, he won't be able to make you do anything," Deirdre shook her head, "Dr. Jordan developed an effective serum to counteract the effects of the herb Mr. Lavin has been ingesting. Security personnel, medical staff, and the senior staff members were the first to be inoculated. The remainder of the City's population should be inoculated within the next," Deirdre looked down at her watch, "fifty-one minutes. We shouldn't have any problems in the future, if we happen to encounter someone else with access to the herb."

"Not likely," John shook his head, "We got intel that the planet where he claims to have harvested the herb has been taken over by Wraith. An alliance of three hives set up an outpost there."

"What about the mainland?" Elizabeth inquired, "Are they being inoculated as well?"

"Lt. Edison and Sgt. Cole took a medical team over, ma'am," Evan answered, "They're working on it now."

"There are hunting parties spread out over great distances," Teyla added, "It will take some time to recall all of them but the medical team has agreed to stay until they are finished."

"And the population of M23-526?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Stackhouse and Baumann took a team back," Deirdre informed her, "Dr. Jordan went along to explain the situation and deal with any side-effects."

"Side-effects?" Rodney questioned rapidly, "What side effects? You didn't say anything about side-effects."

"Not from the inoculation, Rodney," Deirdre reassured him, "From the herb."

"It was mentioned in the report," Carson explained, "Prolonged exposure to the drug causes addiction-like symptoms. If this has been going on as long as I think, the entire village will be going through severe withdrawal. Dr. Jordan and her team will be able to ease any symptoms they experience. Sophia asked to lead the medical team on the planet personally in case the antidote needed refining because of their extended time under the influence."

"Stacks asked to go too," Deirdre looked over to Elizabeth, "Once things get back to…well, however they were before this happened, he's going to try to establish diplomatic relations with whoever's in charge. Charlie's going to take a couple guys to check out the rest of the planet, see if there's anything else of interest."

"Good," Elizabeth nodded, "Now the question is: what are we going to do with Mr. Lavin?"

"I have a few ideas," John crossed his arms over his chest.

"He knows about Atlantis now," Carson sighed, "Including our gate address, thanks to me."

"Which makes him a substantial threat to security," Deirdre spoke evenly, "Especially considering his rampant narcissistic personality disorder. He'll tell everyone of the City's continued existence just as soon as it benefits him to do so."

"Do we keep him here?" Elizabeth looked around the table.

"Do we really want to waste resources on this guy?" Rodney asked bluntly, "I mean, we'd basically have to set up a permanent prison for him. Food. Clothing. People to guard him twenty-seven hours a day. Not to mention the drain on our power supply from running the holding cell's shields constantly."

"We can't let just let him go free either," Evan argued, "Not with what he knows and not after what he did."

"He has committed no serious offenses against our people," Teyla pointed out sensibly, "beyond his breach of our security. Perhaps it would be better to return him to the village once they have been inoculated. The people he has wronged could mete out their own form of justice."

"We could return him," Elizabeth sat forward in her chair, "But we have no idea what sort of ruling or judicial system the planet has."

"Stackhouse will be able to provide that information when he returns, ma'am," Deirdre looked down at the table in front of her, "If Mr. Lavin is returned to his planet, we cannot guarantee that he will stay there. The threat remains."

"We could just kill him," John drawled lazily.

"We can't kill the man for being an arse," Carson frowned.

"He's a bad guy," Ronon declared easily, "I say kill him."

"He can't tell anyone we're here if he's dead," John waved a hand over the table, "He can't cause problems for the villagers again. Problem solved."

"Carson's right," Elizabeth agreed, "We can't kill him."

"Why not?" Deirdre asked quietly.

"I agree that he's done some bad things," Rodney shifted in his seat, "But-"

"Do you really understand the extent of what he's done?" Deirdre lifted her head to stare at Rodney, a blank expression on her face, "Do you understand how many crimes he has committed? Do you understand the severity of those crimes?"

"Crimes according to our laws," Elizabeth folded her hands together over the top of the table, "Do we have the right to judge him by those?"

"Crimes according to any laws," Deirdre turned her blank stare to Teyla, "Ms. Emmagan, have you encountered any societies in this galaxy where it is an acceptable practice to sexually assault someone on a regular basis? Do you know of any societies where rape is unpunished?"

"That's…" Carson hesitated, "He…"

"Six wives," John stated evenly.

"What would you call it, Dr. Beckett?" Deirdre turned to him, "You have read Dr. Jordan's report. Are you trying to tell me those six women were in any sort of state to provide consent?"

"No, they weren't," Carson admitted quietly, "You're right."

"I know of no such planets," Teyla replied carefully, "The punishments for sexual assault and rape vary widely from culture to culture but it is never unpunished."

"Is anyone here really going to argue that what he did was anything less than multiple counts of sexual assault and rape?" Deirdre looked around the room to meet each person's eyes. When no one responded she continued steadily, "That doesn't even begin to measure the mental and emotional abuse that he has inflicted on the people of that village. The mental assault he inflicted on our people," Deirdre's gaze stopped on Carson, "Dr. Beckett, if you weren't under the influence of Mr. Lavin's drug, would you have brought him here without permission? Would you have violated security and medical protocols that you yourself helped to write? Would you have brought him here _at all_?"

"No, of course not," Carson responded quickly, "I wouldn't endanger anyone by bringing him here for no reason."

"You ask if we have the right to judge him by our laws, Elizabeth," Deirdre turned back to her, "I am not claiming we have that right. But think about this: what do you think the outcome would be if we did? What if we had a trial? We have the physical evidence that proves he's been knowingly ingesting the herb. We have expert medical testimony to explain exactly what changes that herb made to his body chemistry and the effect it has on those people around him. We have numerous statements from his victims detailing exactly what he made them do. We have his freely given confession of his numerous crimes. Fairly soon, we will have the medical reports detailing the physical withdrawal symptoms an entire village is now experiencing. As of yet, Mr. Lavin has shown zero remorse for what he has done. His only regret is being caught. What would be the verdict?"

"He would be found guilty," Elizabeth answered carefully, "And sentenced accordingly."

"Mr. Lavin does not have to be judged by us," Deirdre continued, "But he does have to pay for the crimes he has committed. We have to deal with the threat he poses to this City. Those two things don't have to be separate actions."

" _Vous voulez que je commander sa mort_?" Elizabeth asked carefully. [French: You would have me order his death?]

" _Je voudrais que vous considérez toutes les options, madame_ ," Deirdre corrected, " _Vous êtes rejetant une option tout simplement parce que vous trouvez qu'il est de mauvais goût_." [French: I would have you consider all the options, ma'am.] [French: You are dismissing an option simply because you find it distasteful.]

"It's not because I find killing him objectionable," Elizabeth argued, "Though I do."

"Why?" Deirdre wondered.

"We cannot kill a man simply because we don't agree with what he's done," Elizabeth insisted, "We cannot kill a man simply because he could potentially endanger us sometime in the future. It's a slippery slope from executing someone as a security threat to murdering someone simply because we have the power to do so."

"If we hand him over to his village," Deirdre tilted her head to the side, "and they decide to execute him for his crimes, would that be acceptable? Would you hand him over to them _knowing_ they intend to kill him? Where do you draw the line? Do you find his death more palatable if you aren't the one to order it?"

Elizabeth looked around the room before she stood, "Would everyone excuse us for a few minutes?"

"No," Deirdre's whole body flinched as she responded.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at Deirdre.

"With all due respect, _Domina_ ," Deirdre's eyes flickered to the doorway and the doors pivoted shut quietly, "No. If you want to have this conversation, we're going to have it here. _Vous voulez qu'ils me connaissent – ce qui est moi_." [Latin: Mistress.] [French: You want them to know me – this is me.]

"Very well," Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, "Why are you insisting on this man's death?"

"Again, with respect, ma'am," Deirdre stood, turning to face Elizabeth fully and ducking her head to look at Elizabeth's shoes, "I am not demanding his death."

"It kind of sounds like you are," Rodney interjected.

"I am trying to understand why his death is not an option, ma'am," Deirdre kept her head down, "You insist that he must live. I am asking _why_. Because he is human? Criminals on Earth have been put to death for thousands of years. Because he is not a big enough threat to this City? If he were Wraith, he would already be dead. Because he hasn't committed a severe enough crime? Tell me what crimes _are_ considered severe enough to warrant death. Because we are unfit to judge him? Who is then? The people from his village? If you hand him over to the people he victimized and they kill him, are you any less responsible for his death?"

"Everyone deserves to live," Elizabeth flattened her palms on the table, "Even someone like Mr. Lavin."

"But _why_?" Deirdre pressed, "Simply because he was born? Because his father happened to impregnate his mother? I can prove he deserves death. Can you prove that he deserves life?"

" _Avez-vous utilize-_ " Elizabeth started. [French: Have you used-]

"In English, ma'am," Deirdre interrupted, "So everyone can understand. I know what you're going to ask and you know I'm going to answer honestly. I'm not hiding that."

"Have you ever used drugs to coerce a person into doing something?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre agreed, "Would you like to know which ones?"

"Are you a security risk to this expedition?" Elizabeth continued.

"Yes, ma'am," Deidre repeated, "My loyalty is to you first, the expedition second – that makes me a risk."

"Have you killed a person outside of self-defense?" Elizabeth asked evenly.

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre answered, "Would you like to know all their names? The reasons why?"

"According to your logic then," Elizabeth concluded, "You have committed heinous crimes. Do you also deserve to die?"

Deirdre pulled her gun from the holster, spinning it in her hand to hold it by the barrel. She held it out to Elizabeth.

"So execute me, ma'am" Deirdre finally looked up at Elizabeth, "If you think I deserve death for my crimes, then kill me," she stepped forward, reaching for Elizabeth's hand to wrap it around the butt of the gun and lifting it to the center of her own forehead, "You'd better make it a head shot. Anything less will only piss me off."

Elizabeth paled and she tried to pull her hand away, but Deirdre held her in place.

"Did you think I was going to argue for my life, _Domina_? I willingly accept any punishment you deem necessary for my crimes. I know what I have done and I know what I deserve," when Elizabeth only continued to stare at Deirdre she released Elizabeth's hand and moved over to John, "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable if _le soldat_ is the one to end my life," Deirdre looked down at John as she held the gun out to him, "After all, that's his job, isn't it? Protect the City? Preserve life by taking life? How about it, Colonel?" Deirdre held his hard stare for a minute, "No?" Deirdre twirled the weapon again, gripping the butt of the gun tightly as she held it against her temple and turning back to face Elizabeth, "Maybe it'd be best for everyone if I did it myself. That's _my_ job. Identify, assess, and eliminate the threat – by any means necessary." [French: the soldier]

"Enough," Elizabeth ordered sharply.

Deirdre slipped the gun back into her holster silently, ducking her head again.

"You say that life is a gift," Deirdre's hoarse voice was barely loud enough to be heard, "You say that life is precious. You say that life has value. So does death. Life has value because death is an option. Death has value because life is an option. Life and death are interwoven so tightly that you can never untangle them. Even those who learned to ascend weighed the value of life and death. They chose to continue living in a different form rather than to accept death. If death was not an option for them, they would never have found a new way to live. Life has little importance without death and death cannot exist without life. You cannot deny death's value simply because you fear it. If the value of a person's life outweighs the value of their death, then preserving their life is the appropriate choice," Deirdre lifted her head, her quiet voice loud in the otherwise silent room, "The opposite is also true. If the value of a person's death outweighs the value of their life, then taking their life is the appropriate choice. I am not demanding Mr. Lavin's death. I am asking why it is not an option. I don't care whether he lives or dies, as long as he is dealt with and not swept aside to be ignored. This is not a democracy, Dr. Weir. There is no vote, no jury – there is only you. You may seek our advice but you carry the weight of this decision."

"Then _why_?" Elizabeth asked softly, "Why him? Why _now_?"

"Because you always listen, _Domina_ ," Deirdre inclined her head respectfully, "But you do not always hear. Because you have asked me to speak my opinion. Because I could have manipulated the information you received so you had no choice but to kill him. Because I could have already eliminated him with no one the wiser. Because being here requires adaption for all of us, including you. Because I trust you. You have always tried to be fair, but I don't think you can be _truly_ fair unless you consider all the options. _Veri et fiducia_ , _Domina. Je vous dis la vérité parce que je crois que vous allez prendre la bonne décision_." [Latin: Truth and trust.] [French: I am telling you the truth because I trust you will make the right decision.]

"And if I make a choice that you don't agree with?" Elizabeth frowned, "Then what will you do?"

"I will do as I have always done, ma'am," Deirdre answered simply, "Whatever is required of me."

"Your timing is terrible, Agent Vaughn," Elizabeth dropped down into her chair, "I'm not sure pointing a gun at your own head was really necessary to the conversation."

"The timing was unavoidable, ma'am," Deirdre straightened to attention and clasped her hands behind her back, "I've found that sometimes a straightforward demonstration is the easiest way to get a point across."

"Sit down," Elizabeth commanded.

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre sat down quickly, her back rigidly straight in the chair.

"Stop ma'am-ing me," Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose.

" _Tu es fâché avec moi_ , _madame_ ," Deirdre spoke uncertainly. [French: You are angry with me, ma'am.]

" _Oui, je suis en colère contre vous pour forcer cette conversation maintenant et je suis fou que, ce faisant, vous flagrante me manipulé dans l'examen d'une option que je ne suis pas d'accord avec_ ," Elizabeth held up a hand to stop Deirdre's reply, "Don't apologize. It's the manner in which you chose to make your point that I'm upset about, not the fact the you expressed an opinion _._ " [French: Yes, I'm mad at you for forcing this conversation now and I'm mad that by doing so, you blatantly manipulated me into considering an option that I do not agree with.]

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre paused, "The safety was on, ma'am," Deirdre informed her seriously, "My finger was never on the trigger, nor was yours. I was in very little danger."

"Not my point, Dee," Elizabeth shook her head, "And I told you to stop ma'am-ing me."

"Yes, Dr. Weir," Deirdre replied evenly.

Elizabeth scowled at Deirdre for a minute before she turned back to the room.

"Okay then," Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair, "I guess we need to start over. What do we do with Mr. Lavin?"

* * *

 **This chapter...was frankly a bitch to write. It got way more angsty than I originally intended. It was especially difficult to show the opposing viewpoints - trying to make each side clear while still making it clear that Elizabeth was being manipulated. I'm not sure I managed that entirely, but I've already edited this chapter five times so it's going up like this.**

 **This also marks the end of what I wrote for NaNo, so I'll be going back to a chapter a week - posted on either Saturday or Sunday, depending on my schedule for the week.**


	16. Contradiction

Teyla hesitated in front of the door, her hand hovering next to the door chime as she debated pressing it or not. Before she could decide, the door slid open to reveal Deirdre, a neutral expression on her face as she nodded to Teyla.

"Teyla," Deirdre greeted her politely, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I was hoping to speak with you," Teyla replied easily.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something," Deirdre blocked the doorway, "Can it wait?"

"It will only take a moment," Teyla assured her, "Would you mind if I come in? Or you could join me for a short walk in the City. I know you have restricted access to your office for security purposes so if you would prefer I not enter…"

"No, it's fine," Deirdre sighed, "Access is only restricted when my staff is discussing classified information. I'd rather talk with you where no one can overhear," Deirdre stepped to the side, "Come in."

Teyla stepped into the room, looking around at the sparse furnishings as the door slid shut behind her. Nemesis was pacing in front of a laptop covered table in the corner, the end of her tail twitching back and forth.

"Would you like to sit down?" Deirdre gestured towards the chairs by the large conference table.

"Not unless you would prefer it," Teyla turned to Deirdre.

"That depends on the length of the conversation we're about to have," Deirdre stared at Teyla expectantly.

"I have come to ask how you are," Teyla admitted.

"I'm fine," Deirdre replied shortly, "Was that all?"

"Dee," Teyla spoke gently, "I know how difficult this afternoon's meeting was for you."

"I'm fine," Deirdre repeated.

" _Kaina_ ," Teyla reached forward slowly to lay a hand over Deirdre's arm, "I know how you value your secrets and your privacy. I know the deep respect you have for Elizabeth. I cannot imagine the courage it must have taken for you to reveal yourself that way. To disagree with Elizabeth as you did."

"I disagree with Elizabeth on many things," Deirdre gave a jerky shrug, "And I didn't reveal anything more than people already suspected anyway."

" _Kaina_ ," Teyla repeated softly, "I will not force you to speak with me. But I am willing to listen, should you wish to."

"I…" Deirdre sighed tiredly.

She pulled away from Teyla walk around behind the desk. She dug into the bowl of candy on her desk, tossing a pink candy to Teyla, then unwrapping a green one for herself. She shoved the wrapper into her pocket before reaching into the second bowl to pull out a small treat. She tossed the treat to Nemesis, who snapped it out of the air neatly.

"Was I wrong?" Deirdre moved to lean her shoulders against the wall in the corner, sliding down to sit on the floor with her knees pulled up in front of her, "Should I not have said anything? I shouldn't have brought it up in front of everyone like that. I'm so _stupid_. I should've kept my mouth shut. I know better than that."

"It is not wrong to have an opinion on something," Teyla joined Deirdre behind the desk, sitting cross-legged with her back against the wall, "Elizabeth values your opinion highly. Has she not asked you many times to give her counsel?"

"Yes, but…" Deirdre hugged her knees to her chest, "I knew she would be forced to consider my recommendation if we spoke in front of everyone. She can't afford to be seen as unfair or weak-willed when it comes to situations like this. I used that knowledge against her to manipulate her into considering something against her principles. I knew even before I said anything that she would be mad at me and I did it anyway. I knew she would have a hard time understanding and accepting the point I was trying to make," Deirdre bit into her bottom lip, "I took advantage of the kindness and consideration she has shown me. _Я такой идиот_. _Что со мной не так? Как я могу сделать что-то так глупо?_ Elizabeth is…innocent. Not innocent as in she knows nothing but…" [Russian: I'm such an idiot. What is wrong with me? How could I do something so stupid?]

"She has a peaceful soul," Teyla smiled kindly, "Untouched by the darkness that is far too common in humans. She believes the best in everyone and hopes that one day humans will have no need for violence."

"Exactly," Deirdre thumped her head back against the wall, "Sometimes I feel like I'm tainting her. Like I'm infecting her with my darkness, as you call it. If I wasn't here, she would never consider killing that prick."

"If you were not here," Teyla pointed out, "Lucius might have succeeded in his goals. We could all have fallen under his influence."

"Someone would have figured it out," Deirdre breathed out a sigh, "I am causing her so much unhappiness, _kua'ana_. I am making her carry a burden that she does not want. Not just the situation with Lavin but so much more. I could have left with Mikha'el and she would be free. How can I justify the selfish decision I have made in staying here?"

"Do you believe she wishes you had left?" Teyla asked carefully.

"I think that half the time she wishes she had never met me," Deirdre closed her eyes and thumped her head against the wall again.

"Why do you remain here in Atlantis?" Teyla inquired, "Is it because there is danger for you on your planet?"

"There are risks wherever I go," Deirdre answered, "That was never a factor in my decision. My safety is unimportant. The risk I pose to those around me is far more influential to my decisions. If I go back to Earth, I would be putting my family in danger. I have spent too much of my life protecting them to ruin it now."

"What of your family here?" Teyla asked, "What of your friends? Is the danger you pose to us less?"

"Yes and no," Deirdre hesitated, "The danger is still present but it is lessened by the distance. The more I reveal of myself, the more danger there is to those around me. I will always be a threat to those around me simply by virtue of my existence."

"So why do you stay in Atlantis?" Teyla questioned, "If it is merely the distance from Earth that you require, why do you not choose an uninhabited planet to make your home?"

"Because I am a selfish person," Deirdre opened her eyes to look over to Teyla, "Because there are people her who challenge me – something I encounter very rarely. But mostly because I thought I could make a difference here. Obviously, that was a big mistake. I'm not going to be able to change things in a positive way. How could I? I don't think I'm capable of being a good influence. All I know how to do is destroy things. Atlantis doesn't need that. Elizabeth certainly doesn't."

Teyla unwrapped her candy carefully, folding the wrapper neatly and putting in her pocket as she dropped the candy into her mouth.

"Don't bite it," Deirdre informed her, "You let it dissolve in your mouth."

"It is very sweet," Teyla moved the candy around in her mouth, "What do you call this flavor?"

"Watermelon," Deirdre answered, "If you don't like that flavor, I can get you a different one. Or I have some chocolates in my quarters that I won in a betting pool. I can get those if you prefer."

"I quite enjoy this flavor, but thank you for the generous offer," Teyla assured her, "You are a very contradictory person, Deirdre."

"How so?" Deirdre asked curiously.

"You claim to be selfish," Teyla spoke calmly, "And yet you always ask what everyone else needs. You always do your best to care for those who are important to you."

"I don't…" Deirdre trailed off at Teyla's look.

"You ensure Rodney eats properly, always being mindful of his allergies and monitoring his caffeine ingestion," Teyla raised an eyebrow, "You allow Ronon to take his aggression out on you, causing yourself physical injuries in doing so. You have taken the time to learn my language even though there is no reason to other than making my reports and briefings easier to read. You try your hardest to solve any problems the staff here may experience, many before anyone realizes there _is_ a problem. You cannot abide seeing people in pain and do everything in your power to relieve them of it. And Elizabeth," Teyla eyed Deirdre shrewdly, "I believe there is nothing you would not do for Elizabeth. You always ask what everyone else needs and what everyone else wants."

"That's not…" Deirdre shook her head, "I'm only doing those things because I expect certain things of people."

"You expect us to be our best," Teyla agreed, "And you do whatever you can to ensure we reach that potential. You so rarely ask for anything in return. Many of the people here owe you favors, yet you only collect them on behalf of someone else. You do not accept our help, even when you may need it."

Deirdre frowned but remained silent.

"Even when you were deciding whether to stay in Atlantis or return to Earth," Teyla continued, "You thought about others first. You worried that your presence on Earth would bring danger to your family. You chose to stay here because you wanted to make a difference, to help the people of this great City and the people of this galaxy. You worry that you will change us for the worse because you do not believe yourself capable of goodness. You fear that you will…taint Elizabeth with your darkness."

"I'm pretty sure I already have," Deirdre bit into her bottom lip.

"That is…" Teyla gave Deirdre a stern look, "quite a ridiculous thought for you to have."

" _Teyla_ ," Deirdre huffed.

"Do you believe Elizabeth so weak-minded that she will do whatever you say?" Teyla questioned.

"Of course not," Deirdre retorted, "She's not going to do whatever I say, but that doesn't mean I can't manipulate her into doing things when I want to."

"But you want very little for yourself," Teyla persisted, "You want a home and you want to be your best self. You have chosen Atlantis for your home and you wish to protect it. Like the discussion today. Why did you insist that Elizabeth consider all options? Because you wanted to have things your way?"

"No," Deirdre tilted her head, "I don't think so?"

"You said yourself," Teyla continued, "If you truly wanted the man dead, he would be."

"That's not necessarily true," Deirdre hedged.

"You believe Elizabeth should order him killed for what he has done?" Teyla asked cautiously, "That he should be put to death for the threat he poses Atlantis?"

"I…" Deirdre paused before continuing evenly, "I don't think I can be completely impartial when it comes to Mr. Lavin."

"So why have the conversation with Elizabeth," Teyla questioned, "and why insist the conversation take place in front of the rest of us? You say you could have killed him without anyone knowing, so why not do so if you think he deserves death."

"Because it's not my decision," Deirdre answered.

"But no one would have known it was you," Teyla's eyebrow raised, "Or was that an empty boast on your part?"

"Because survival requires adaptation," Deirdre replied softly, "and Elizabeth is going to have to adapt more than the rest of us. Because someday she's not going to have a choice and I don't want her to suffer when that happens. Because sometimes a few lives have to be sacrificed to save many more. Because…" Deirdre tipped her head forward to rest on her knees, "…it is better that everyone sees me as the villain if she orders his death. Because as much as I would personally like to watch him die slowly and in as much pain as possible, I understand that may not be the best choice here."

"Do you in your mind, your heart, truly believe that what you said today?" Teyla asked carefully, "About the value of life and death?"

"I do," Deirdre looked up at Teyla again.

"And will you respect Dr. Weir's decision," Teyla continued, "no matter what it may be?"

"Of course, I will," Deirdre insisted, "But-"

"Then you were right to tell Elizabeth," Teyla interrupted, "Even if she disagrees with you. Perhaps you could have chosen a different method to make your point, but the words still needed to be spoken."

"The safety was on," Deirdre rolled her eyes, "It's not like it was the first time I've ever had a gun to my head."

"Elizabeth cares for you," Teyla laid a hand over Deirdre's knee, "As do I. We do not wish to see you endanger yourself in such a manner."

"That is what I am for, _kaikua'ana_ ," Deirdre smiled sadly, "To endanger myself so others don't have to." [Hawaiian: older sister (formal) - used as 'elder sister who is to be respected' in Satedan]

"Maybe before, _kaina_ ," Teyla replied firmly, "But not any longer."

Nemesis plopped down next to Deirdre, shoving her nose into the crook of Deirdre's neck and whining unhappily.

"Your nose is cold, Nem," Deirdre draped an arm over Nemesis' shoulders.

"I believe she is telling you the same thing I am," Teyla reached over to scratch Nemesis' chin, "That you are not alone here. You do not have to carry every burden on your own."

"Or she just wants another treat," Deirdre snorted.

"That is probably true as well," Teyla smiled as she stood, "I should leave you to your work."

"I was reviewing the security logs from today," Deirdre rubbed a hand over Nemesis' head as she pushed herself to her feet, "For the second time."

"Meaning you have already done so once?" Teyla raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Deirdre admitted, "But I was just…" Deirdre trailed off at Teyla's flat stare and shoved her hands in her pockets, "I didn't want to talk to anyone because I was obsessing over what happened this afternoon."

"I see," Teyla responded steadily, "If you are not busy, I believe Ronon has already run out of Marines to practice against this evening. Perhaps you could go to the gym and spar with him for a while."

"Did he send any of them to the infirmary?" Deirdre asked dryly, "Because you know how Carson gets when he has to stitch people up after," Deirdre put both hands on her hips and continued in a thick Scottish brogue, " _fightin' like a bunch of rabid animals_. _Bloody children, the lot of you_! _Can't you find something to do that doesn't involve beating the holy hell out of each other?_ "

Teyla laughed brightly, "We shall have to find out when we get there."

 _*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*_

"Dr. Vaughn," Elizabeth gestured to the chair in front of her desk, "Have a seat please."

"Yes, ma'am," Deirdre sat down stiffly.

"Am I going to have to remind you not to ma'am me?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"No, ma'am?" Deirdre replied hesitantly.

"You're not in trouble, Dee," Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, "I wanted to let you know that I've received all the reports from the teams on M23-526. I've made my decision regarding Mr. Lavin."

"And what is your decision?" Deirdre asked evenly.

"The Mayor has requested we release Mr. Lavin into their custody," Elizabeth informed her, "In the interest of establishing diplomatic relations with the people of this planet, I have decided to grant his request. With one condition – that Lucius never be allowed to leave the planet."

"I see," Deirdre dropped her gaze to Elizabeth's desk, "I read the reports as well, Dr. Weir. Their justice system consists of an elected Mayor and three town elders. The most serious crime they've ever had to deal with was petty theft. They have no jail to speak of and they have no death penalty. I'm not sure how they plan on ensuring Mr. Lavin's cooperation in remaining on the planet."

"I believe they've managed to find a rather…unique solution to the problem," Elizabeth paused, "I'd like you to accompany Colonel Sheppard and the security team when they return Mr. Lavin to the planet. I'm not ordering you to do so, but if you would like to go along – review the solution they've come up with – I think it would help satisfy some of your concerns."

"You could just tell…" Deirdre trailed off at Elizabeth's stern look.

"We both know you won't be comfortable with the situation until you see for yourself how it's being handled," Elizabeth's voice was gentle but firm, "Me simply telling you will not allay your concerns."

"I think I lied to you three days ago, Dr. Weir," Deirdre looked up at Elizabeth cautiously, "Though I didn't realize it at the time."

"During the meeting, you mean?" a frown marred Elizabeth's features, "You _think_ you lied? About what?"

"About not caring whether Mr. Lavin lived or died," Deirdre answered quietly, "I think that I would very much like to see him dead."

"I see," Elizabeth responded neutrally, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk and clasp her hands together, "Was that why you insisted I consider ordering his execution?"

"No, ma'am," Deirdre straightened, "I manipulated the conversation the way I did because I believe those things needed to be said. We all have to adapt the ways of the Pegasus galaxy if we are to survive here. For you, that means making tough decisions that you wouldn't otherwise have to make. Including life or death decisions that will affect entire planets. I thought…" Deirdre gave a jerky shrug, "I thought that if I manipulated you in front of everyone, it would somehow make things easier for you."

"By making you the bad guy for forcing my hand," Elizabeth studied Deirdre's uncomfortable expression, "If that was your intent, why tell me about it now? Wouldn't it have worked better if you hadn't brought it up?"

"I thought you might want to retract your offer, ma'am," Deirdre's gaze fell to Elizabeth's desk again, "Now that you know I want Mr. Lavin dead. If I go to the planet with the security team, there's still the possibility that I might decide to kill him, whatever the consequences may be."

Elizabeth stared silently at Deirdre for a minute.

"If I ask you why you want him dead," Elizabeth asked softly, "is the answer going to be because of the threat he poses to the City?"

"No, ma'am," Deirdre whispered, "I don't think so."

"The offer stands, Special Agent Vaughn," Elizabeth continued when Deirdre's head snapped up, "You said you would respect the decision I made and I believe that you will do so. I trust you, Dee."

"You really shouldn't, Elizabeth," Deirdre shook her head, " _I_ don't trust me."

"They leave in an hour," Elizabeth turned to her laptop, "You're dismissed."

* * *

 **Geez, more angst. I swear I'll do my best to write more fluffy goodness after this.**


	17. Listening

The jumper ride to M23-526 was mostly quiet, Lucius babbling nervously at the two very large and heavily armed Marines seated on either side of him. The thick shackles attached to his wrists and ankles clattered together when he tried to move. Deirdre was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, silent as she stared blankly out the front window. John landed a short distance from the village and opened the hatch to be met by Stackhouse, Baumann, and a small group of the villagers. Stackhouse made quick introductions before an older man at the center of the group handed over a large leather satchel. John looked inside before nodding and stepping back into the jumper. He set the bag down between him and Deirdre as he slid back into his chair. Deirdre glanced down at the bag fleetingly, then went back to staring out the window.

"We're not staying here?" Lucius asked loudly.

"Nope," John hit the control to close the back hatch.

"I thought you said you were returning me to the village," Lucius protested, "Elizabeth said…" Lucius trailed off when Deirdre turned to glare harshly at him. He shifted in his seat as he started again, "Dr. Weir said that you were taking me back to my planet."

"And we did," John eased the jumper back into the air.

"But…we're not staying?" Lucius paled, "You _lied_ to me? You're taking me out in to the middle of nowhere to kill me, aren't you? You can't do that! Dr. Weir said-"

"I know exactly what Dr. Weir said, Mr. Lavin," Deirdre turned back to stare out the front window, "No one is killing you. At the moment. Be quiet."

Lucius went back to blubbering at the Marines, though neither of them acknowledged hearing him at all.

"What exactly _did_ Elizabeth say to you?" John asked quietly.

"'In the interest of establishing diplomatic relations with the people of this planet," Deirdre quoted flatly, "I have decided to grant his request. With one condition – that Lucius never be allowed to leave the planet.' Her exact words. Then she offered to let me return to the planet with you so I could see the arrangements for myself."

"She didn't say anything else?" John wondered, "She didn't tell you what the Mayor has planned?"

"She said nothing else that would concern you," Deirdre replied shortly, "Thus far, I am…unimpressed by the measures taken to ensure Mr. Lavin's captivity."

"Give it a few minutes," John drawled, "You might change your mind."

Fifteen minutes later, John landed in a small clearing at the center of a dense forest. When he pressed the control to open the back hatch again, Deirdre pressed a control on the dash in front of her and a map came up on the HUD.

"I see," Deirdre raised an eyebrow, "Did the villagers know this place existed before we came here?"

"Doubtful," John turned to see the two Marines pull Lucius to his feet. Lucius started complaining loudly as they marched him out of the jumper. John turned back to the map on the HUD, "The mountains surrounding this valley are like the Rockies and the Appalachians stacked on top of each other. It's a short trip in a jumper, up and over, but getting in or out of here without any sort of heavy equipment or aircraft would be-"

"Extremely difficult," Deirdre narrowed her eyes at the map, "But not necessarily impossible. There's a river for fresh water two klicks to the north…plenty of smaller life signs to hunt for food…flat clearing to plant crops…trees for building…" Deirdre turned to John, "I assume the villagers gave him basic tools?"

"The Mayor said everything in the bag was donated," John nodded, "It seems they were eager to get rid of him."

"So, they're banishing him to the middle of nowhere," Deirdre reached forward to tap the map off, "Meeting Elizabeth's requirement that he not be allowed to leave while mostly guaranteeing they won't have to deal with him ever again. And technically, he has everything he needs to survive, so they're not executing him."

"Technically," John drawled, "But what are the chance he'll actually survive on his own?"

"Eleven point three five percent," Deirdre responded automatically, "Seven point zero eight if those life signs turn out to be carnivorous."

"Your brain is a weird place, Vaughn," John snorted and reached over to pick up the satchel.

"Yes, it is," Deirdre put a hand on his forearm then immediately withdrew it, "Colonel Sheppard…" Deirdre paused and the blank mask slipped from her face, replaced by a slightly pained expression, "…John. Is this…Is he…" Deirdre let out a frustrated noise, "Do you agree with this punishment?"

"This is what the villagers decided on," John shrugged.

"That's not what I asked you," Deirdre frowned slightly.

"It's what Elizabeth agreed to," John leaned back in his chair.

"Again, not what I asked," Deirdre waved a hand at the front window, "This is…"

"You were expecting a deep, dark hole in the ground somewhere?" John drawled, "Thick iron bars surrounding a dimly lit eight by eight room with only a cot and a toilet?"

"I was expecting…" Deirdre sighed, "…something more I guess."

John reached for the satchel again, standing as he picked it up.

"You never answered my question," Deirdre stood and followed John out of the jumper to where the Marines and Lucius were waiting.

"Nope," John looked over to the Marines, "Uncuff him and wait in the jumper."

One of the Marines pulled a key from his vest and unlocked the shackles from Lucius' arms. Lucius let out a sigh of relief as the Marine bent to unlock the shackles from his ankles as the other Marine undid the thick belt around Lucius' waist. The second Marine collected the chains before both of them walked back to the jumper.

"Thank goodness," Lucius rubbed at his wrists, "I thought I was never going to get out of those horrible, horrible things," Lucius looked around quickly, "So, this place looks nice. What are we doing here? Are we picking something else up?"

"Dropping something off, actually," John dropped the bag at Lucius' feet, "Here. This is for you."

"What's in the bag?" Lucius picked it up and peered inside, "Oh! These must be gifts from all my admirers. How thoughtful of them. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with," Lucius pulled a small leather pouch from the bag and poked a finger in it, "tava bean seeds. But, still, it's the thought that counts. Now, that we've dropped this stuff off," Lucius looked back up to John, "where are we going next? I know this fabulous little planet where the women-"

"You're not going anywhere," John interrupted, "Ever again. Welcome to your new home, Lucius."

"My new home?" Lucius asked curiously, "What do you mean my new home?"

"You've been exiled from your village," John explained, "The Mayor and the town elders took a vote. It was unanimous."

"Unanimous? That can't be right," Lucius shook his head, "The elders love me. The Mayor…well, after the thing with me and his wife I'm not so sure he loves me…but the elders – I'm their favorite person! They wouldn't have voted to _exile_ me. There must be some sort of mistake. If I could just talk to the elders, I'm sure we can get this all straightened out."

"I don't think so," John smirked, "When I say the vote was unanimous, I mean every single person in the village old enough to vote according to your laws voted to banish you. After our people explained what was happening, we inoculated everyone against the effects of your herb. You can't force them to do anything anymore."

" _Forced_?" a wounded expression came over Lucius' face, "What do you mean _forced_? I never forced anyone to do anything. Everyone _wanted_ to do things for me."

When John heard quiet growling, he glanced over to Deirdre to see her hand twitching towards her gun.

"I'm mean, sure, people liked me more once I started taking the herb," Lucius continued, oblivious to Deirdre's increasing tension, "And, sure, people wanted to help me all the time and I let them. No ever got hurt. I never made anyone do anything they didn't want to do. I'm a nice guy."

John clamped a hand around Deirdre's wrist as she slipped her gun from the holster, stopping her movement with the gun pointed at Lucius' midsection.

"Don't," John ordered.

"Give me one good reason why not," Deirdre snarled.

"What are you doing?" Lucius took a hasty step back, dropping the bag at his side to raise his hands out in front of him, "Now, wait-wait-wait-wait! Just listen-"

"You told Elizabeth you would abide by her decision," John tightened his grip, "She agreed to let him live out his life here."

"I changed my mind," Deirdre snapped, "Let go of me, Sheppard."

"As much as I'd like to," John drawled, "I can't let you kill him."

"Hey!" Lucius complained, "I thought we were friends."

"Fine," Deirdre dropped her arm slightly to aim at Lucius' leg.

"No, wait!" Lucius protested.

"Vaughn," John spoke quietly, "He's not worth the bullet."

Deirdre blinked twice before lowering her arm back to her side, "You're right."

John released the grip on her arm.

"Oh, thank goodness," Lucius let out a relieved sigh as Deirdre holstered the gun again, "Thank you, John. I was afraid she was going to try to blow my leg off and I really need my legs, you know, for-"

Lucius was cut off as Deirdre stepped forward and reached up to put both hands on his shoulders.

"What are you-" Lucius started.

Deirdre brought her knee up swiftly, ramming it into Lucius' groin. He screamed loudly as he sank to his knees, stopped from going any further by Deirdre's tight grip on his shirt. Deirdre kept her right hand fisted in the top of his shirt, but moved the left to grip his chin tightly and force him to meet her eyes.

"Quiet," Deirdre ordered sharply. Lucius' stopped screaming, but continued to whimper as tears streamed down his face, "I want you to listen to me very carefully, Lucius."

"I'm listening," Lucius insisted quickly, "I'm listening, I swear. Don't kick me again."

"There's a legend," Deirdre stated calmly, "in certain circles on the planet where I was born. More of a rumor, really, or a fairy tale, depending on who you ask. This legend tells of a creature that can suck a person's very soul out. Not unlike how a Wraith can suck the life out of a person. Only, the body doesn't die when the soul is removed. It lives on as an empty shell – a useless vegetable unable to do anything on its own. It's called the 'Dementor's Kiss'. It's considered a fate worse than death."

Lucius swallowed loudly.

"This… _creature_ ," Deirdre smiled coldly, "This… _dementor_ is considered to be extremely dangerous because the only way to tell it apart from a regular human is the eyes."

"The eyes?" Lucius asked nervously.

"The eyes," Deirdre's irises darkened to black, "are said to be void of any color. Completely black. Empty, black, nothingness."

"You…" Lucius' eyes widened and his face reddened as he started breathing rapidly, "You're…Oh god. You can't-I'm not- _you can't!_ Colonel Sheppard! You can't let her-"

"Shhh," Deirdre leaned down until her mouth was less than an inch from Lucius', "Hold still, lover. It'll only hurt for a minute."

Lucius' eyes rolled back into his head and Deirdre let him drop to the ground with a loud thump.

"Prick," Deirdre nudged Lucius with her boot before turning back to John, irises ash gray once more, "We can go now."

"Did you…" John looked between Lucius' unconscious body and Deirdre several times, "Did you just perform the Demetor's Kiss on him? Did you Harry Potter a guy to not-death?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sheppard," Deirdre rolled her eyes, "The pain of his severely bruised testicles combined with his rapid heartbeat from me scaring the shit out of him made him faint."

"Oh," John stuck his lower lip out slightly, "That's kind of disappointing."

"I could still shoot him and leave him here to bleed out," Deirdre sneered at the unconscious body, "I won't tell if you won't."

"Nah," John gave Lucius a final disgusted look before he turned towards the jumper, "Let's get out of here before he wakes up."

 _*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*AV*_

Rodney was eating lunch with his team, explaining a rather significant advancement he made on one of his more important project when he noticed Deirdre walking up to the table, reading from a tablet in her hands and Nemesis trailing behind her.

"NO," Rodney said firmly.

"Huh?" Deirdre looked up at Rodney curiously, "No, what?"

"No, we're not signing anymore transfer orders," John clarified, "Or requisition orders. Or whatever other paperwork you have for us."

"What the Colonel said," Rodney jabbed his fork in Deirdre's direction, "You can't have anyone else. Or any _thing_ else. You _stole_ my favorite converter."

"Your favorite converter?" Deirdre's forehead scrunched up in confusion, " _Oh_. You mean one of the Ancient adapters that Collins' built?"

"I don't care who built it," Rodney scowled, "You took the best one. It had all my favorite settings on it. The button sensitivity was perfectly adjusted for me."

"The settings are reset every time you turn it off, Rodney," Deirdre rolled her eyes, "and the _button sensitivity_ is exactly the same on all six units."

"Is not," Rodney argued.

"Is too," Deirdre insisted.

"Is not," Rodney narrowed his eyes at her.

"Is too," Deirdre smirked.

"Would you care to join us for lunch, _kaina_?" Teyla interjected.

"No, thank you, _kua'ana_ ," Deirdre smiled as Ronon slipped Nemesis a piece of food from his tray, "I was just coming to speak with Colonel Sheppard."

"I'm not signing anything until after lunch," John maintained.

"So you said, but I think you'll change your mind," Deirdre responded, "I have two pieces of business for you today, but only one requires a signature. First, the _Daedalus_ landed ten minutes ago. They've begun unloading our supplies already."

"Captain Randall takes care of all that," John reminded her.

"He does," Deirdre agreed, "But I thought you'd want to know the new uniforms have arrived. Partly."

"Partly?" John questioned, "How do new uniforms _partly_ arrive?"

"Well," Deirdre sighed, "It seems whoever is in charge of these sorts of things at the SGC miscalculated. There are exactly one pair of black BDU pants and one black tee shirt for each gate team member. About a third of the cloth jackets we requisitioned are here but only a quarter of the black leather jackets arrived. There were no BDU shirts included."

"One uniform," John replied flatly, "For each person."

"Not even a whole uniform," Rodney complained, "Whose moronic idea was it to only send us half a single uniform? Do these idiots not understand what fieldwork entails?"

"I'll be sure to ask next time we dial Earth," Deirdre looked from Rodney to John, "Elizabeth said you could decide how to distribute the jackets since gate teams fall under your purview and we have no idea when we'll be getting the rest of the uniforms."

"Meaning she doesn't want to deal with the complaints from people who don't get one," John drawled, "Team leaders first, then we'll go by seniority and size until we run out."

"I'll make up a list," Deirdre reached up to tap her earpiece, "Yes, Laura? I'm in the mess. Did you need something?" Deirdre tilted her head to the side as she paused, "Another two or three minutes, why? Okay…I'll see you when you get here then."

Deirdre frowned as she tapped her radio off.

"Is there a problem, Dee?" Teyla wondered.

"I don't think so," Deirdre answered carefully, "Laura said she needed to know where I was but she sounded…cheerful, I guess?"

"She always sounds chipper," Rodney snorted, "She's a very cheerful person."

"The second thing?" John prompted.

"Right," Deirdre handed John the tablet in her hands, "Cadman's overdue for a promotion. I know you don't really have a promotion board out here so I emailed General O'Neill last week to find out the protocols. He said if I get three superior officers' signatures, he'll take care of the rest Earth-side. Or rather, his assistant will take care of it. I'd like to have Laura as my second in command but she's the same rank as Kemp. Promoting her to Captain clears up any chain of command issues that might arise. Yours is the last signature I require."

"I assume you have all the paperwork in order," John pulled the stylus form the side of the tablet.

"Of course, Colonel," Deirdre nodded, "If you'd like to go over it first, I can come back for it later."

"I've learned not to doubt you when it comes to paperwork," John signed his name and handed the tablet back to her, "I should probably have Lorne look over the personnel files. See if anyone else is up for promotion. Might as well find out now, if the General's feeling generous."

"Lorne's in his office now," Deirdre smiled politely, "You should probably figure out how to buy Master Sergeant Thomas some flowers, since she'll be the one doing all the paperwork. She likes gerbera daisies. The red ones. She says they brighten up her windowless office."

"How am I supposed to order red gerbera daisies from the Pegasus galaxy?" John frowned.

"Chuck," Ronon spoke around a mouthful of food.

"Yeah," Rodney agreed, "He takes care of that kind of stuff."

"He sometimes charges a fee, however," Teyla added, "Depending on the level of difficultly involved in completing the task."

"For flowers," Rodney looked over as Laura and a tall man with military-short brunette hair made their way towards the table, "He'll probably charge a full-size candy bar. Two, actually. Since he has to deal with the SGC people."

"He likes snickers," Deirdre suggested.

"Aren't Canadians supposed to be nice?" John grumbled, "Extorting people for chocolate isn't nice."

"He takes coffee too," Laura informed him, "Special Agent Vaughn, I'd like you to meet Master Sergeant Shelley."

Deirdre froze and Nemesis' tail started twitching back and forth slowly.

"You're lookin' pretty good for a dead woman," Shelley spoke with a familiar southern drawl, " _Special Agent_ Vaughn."

"I should have fucking shot him," Deirdre's jaw tightened as she looked up to the ceiling, "I swear to whatever fucking deity is listening, I'm going to beat the shit out of him next time I see him."

"I really don't think that'll make a difference," Shelley laughed, "I'm pretty sure Spencer likes getting the shit kicked out of him."


	18. Favorites

"You can't be here," Deirdre turned to face Shelley.

"Pretty sure I can be," Shelley grinned, "Since I _am_ here."

"You can't _stay_ here," Deirdre corrected.

"Why not?" Shelley only continued to smile at Deirdre.

"You know very well why," Deirdre frowned.

"Do I?" Shelley's grin widened.

"Did he send you?" Deirdre questioned.

"Not the way you think," Shelley assured her, "Spencer said you were playing war games and could do with a medic. Since I've been under at the SGC for the last three months, he asked if I wanted to come out here and fight space vampires instead of going back to regular duty."

"You were helping him find out what happened. Feeding him intel," Deirdre narrowed her eyes, " _Voilà la seule raison pour que vous soyez à la SGC. Qui d'autre at-il dit?_ " [French: That's the only reason for you to be at the SGC. Who else did he tell?]

"Rae, it's not like that," Shelley's grin morphed into a serious expression, " _Nous avons été les meilleurs amis depuis que je suis né. Sa maman était ami avec ma maman et sa grand-mère était ami avec ma Grand-Mère._ _Je devais être son meilleur homme quand il a finalement eu le temps de se marier Aimee. La plus longue, nous sommes passés sans parler était les deux mois après que vous lui éclate de cet enfer-trou. Quand je ne l'avais pas entendu parler de lui dans quelques mois et il a été découvert déchaîne à travers les États tentent de venger ta mort, je lui ai offert d'aider_. _Comme son meilleur ami, rien de plus_." [French: We've been best friends since I was born. His mama was friends with my mama and his grandmama was friends with my grandmamma. I was supposed to be his best man when he finally got around to marrying Aimee. The longest we've gone without talking was the two months after you broke him out of that hell-hole. When I hadn't heard from him in a couple months and found out he was rampaging across the states trying to avenge your death, I offered to help. As his best friend, nothing more.]

"I don't need avenging," Deirdre rolled her eyes, "You're both ridiculous. So much for understanding my decision and letting you boys live normal lives. Mika's such a fucking liar," Deirdre sighed and looked up at Shelley seriously, "You know you're going to get killed out here, right?"

"Everybody dies eventually," Shelley drawled, "Might as well die making a difference."

"Is this another relative?" Rodney questioned.

"Don't shoot this one," John ordered easily, "Or stab him. I don't want blood in my food."

"So what is he?" Rodney looked between Deirdre and Shelley, "Another brother – or half-brother, like the last one was? Or is he a cousin? An uncle? A nephew? Is he a spy too? Or a retired spy?"

"He's Air Force, Rodney," Laura shook her head, "Active duty. Just because we're Intel doesn't mean you have to call us spies."

"Yes, it does. Isn't that what you people do?" Rodney waved his fork at her, "You spy on things – people – whatever. Just because he's Air Force doesn't mean he's not still a spy. Maybe he's an _Air Force_ spy. And that doesn't mean they're not related either."

"Whoa, time out," Shelley held up his hands in a 'T', staring at Deirdre curiously, "Half-brother?"

"Damn it, Rodney," Deirdre swore under her breath.

Shelly stepped close to Deirdre and reached forward to hook a finger under her collar, pulling on the sliver chain to withdraw the dog tags from under her shirt. He looked at the writing on the tags for a minute before he looked back up to Deirdre.

"He found it?" Shelly asked quietly, "Father's side?"

"Yeah," Deirdre nodded.

"Well…" Shelly dropped the tags back into her shirt, "Shit. That means…"

"Yeah, I know," Deirdre agreed, " _Vous ne pouvez rien dire à personne_." [French: You can't say anything to anyone.]

" _Cela ne veut pas ce que je suis inquiet_ ," Shelley took a step back. [French: That's not what I'm worried about.]

Deirdre tilted her head to the side, " _Ce n'est pas_?" [French: It's not?]

" _Cela signifie que je dormais avec petite soeur de mon meilleur ami_ ," Shelly fake-whispered, "If he finds out, he's going to kick my ass six ways to Sunday." [French: That means I slept with my best friend's baby sister.]

Deirdre let out a burst of bright laughter that had made most of the room turn to look at her. Nemesis' tail stopped twitching as Deirdre relaxed.

"I won't tell him if you won't," Deirdre smirked up at Shelley.

"It'll be our little secret," Shelley winked at her.

"Well?" Deirdre raised an eyebrow at Shelley expectantly as she set her tablet down on the table, "If you're staying, you may as well greet me properly."

Shelley stepped close again, raising his hands to lay them on either side of her face.

"Hello, Azrael," Shelley bent to press a chaste kiss to Deirdre's mouth.

"Hello, Suriel," Deirdre smiled softly as Shelley leaned his forehead against hers.

" _Pourquoi avez-vous ailes pourpres_?" Shelley murmured quietly, " _Tout le monde a une aura de couleur bizarre ici. Mais vous ... et les deux gars derrière vous ... vous avez ... trois formes réelles._ " [French: Why do you have crimson wings?] [French: Everyone has a weird colored aura here. But you…and the two guys behind you…you three have…actual shapes.]

" _Mikha'el ne vous a pas dit_?" Deirdre wondered. [French: Mikha'el didn't tell you?]

" _Il dit que la ville était en vie_ ," Shelley brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, " _et qu'il lui chantait. Il n'a rien dit à propos de couleurs flashy_." [French: He said the City was alive] [French: and that it sang to him. He didn't say anything about flashy colors.]

" _Il est différent pour chaque personne_ ," Deirdre explained, " _Mika entend des choses, mais vous voyez les choses. Je vais vous expliquer plus quand il n'y a pas une salle pleine de gens qui nous écoutent_." [French: It's different for every person.] [French: Mika hears things, but you see things. I'll explain more when there's not a room full of people watching us.]

"What's the matter, Rae?" Shelley smirked as he stepped back and dropped one hand back to his side, the other to Deirdre's waist, "Don't like an audience?"

"Not this big of one, no," Deirdre looked over to where Laura was watching them with a grin, "Was there anything else?"

"There were a couple more people here for you," Laura informed her, "But Kemp's taking care of getting them settled in."

"I have the paperwork for the other two. We'll have a quick meeting at 1500 tomorrow so they can meet the rest of the team," Deirdre decided, "That should give them enough time to unpack. I'll radio everyone later this afternoon to let them know. Our gear getting unloaded?"

"Bryan and Nora are going over the tech stuff," Laura replied easily, "And the last I saw, the Gunny was arguing with Captain Randall over a crate of ammo."

"My money's on Stacks," Deirdre snorted, "That shit was special order. He's probably going to hide it under his damn bed. Thanks, Laura."

"I'll let you know who wins," Laura waved as she left.

"So…" John drawled, "Not a brother then."

"No, sir," Shelley turned his attention to John, "Spencer – well, the older Spencer I guess – and I grew up together. After high school, he went Army, I went Air Force."

"Not a spy either. Just a medic I've worked with before," Deirdre explained, "Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, Military Commander and Dr. Rodney McKay, Head of Science and Research," Deirdre gestured to each of them, "Ambassador Teyla Emmagan of Athos and Specialist Ronon Dex of Sateda. Everyone, this is Master Sergeant Lucas Shelley."

"Nice to meet y'all," Shelley nodded to the group.

Ronon glared at the hand on Deirdre's hip.

"It is our pleasure to meet an old friend of Deirdre's," Teyla inclined her head slightly.

"And this," Deirdre smiled down at Nemesis, "is Nemesis. Nem, _dies ist Lucas Shelley. Er ist ein Engel - Suriel. Freund und Verbündeter._ " [German: Nem, this is Lucas Shelley. He is an Angel - Suriel. Friend and ally.]

"Hello, Nemesis," Shelley released Deirdre to crouch down in front of Nemesis, massaging both sides of her neck with his hands, "Aren't you a gorgeous thing? Eliot told me what a smart girl you are. I've got treats for you in one of my bags."

Nemesis purred and stretched her head up to give Shelley better access.

"Yes, yes, everyone's glad to meet everyone," Rodney scowled, "The hell-beast is pretty and spoiled rotten. So if he's not another secret relative, what is he? Boyfriend? Fiancée? _Special_ _friend_?"

"I keep trying to convince Rae to marry me," Shelley sighed dramatically as he stood, "But she always tells me no."

"Lucas," Deirdre reached over to pat his cheek twice, "If we got married you'd have to stop sleeping around. _I'd_ have to stop sleeping around. I'd give it a month, two max, before we killed each other."

"Good point," Shelley laughed and slipped an arm back around her waist, "Scratch that idea then."

"That's not really an answer," Rodney huffed.

"We're…" Deirdre looked up at Shelley.

"Friends slash co-workers who occasionally get naked," Shelley suggested, "or not quite naked, depending on the situation, and use each other for stress relief?"

"That's a bit wordy," Deirdre shrugged and turned back to Rodney, "But fairly accurate."

"Hmmm," Rodney eyed the two of the warily.

"You're an Air Force medic?" John studied Shelley carefully.

"Yes, sir," Shelley agreed, "58 RQS out of Nellis before I started working for the SGC."

"You're a PJ?" John's eyebrows shot up as he looked up at Deirdre, "They gave you a PJ?"

"They gave me the best PJ," Deirdre replied smugly.

"I don't know about best," Shelley shrugged.

"What is a…PeeJay?" Teyla asked curiously.

"PJ is a term for a pararescueman, ma'am," Shelley explained, "We're special forces in the Air Force, specializing in the recovery and medical treatment of wounded personnel from a variety of environments."

"PJs are somewhere between a doctor and a soldier," Deirdre added, "They can't do quite as much as a doctor, but sometimes a decent PJ means the difference between life and death."

"We can kick your ass," Shelley smirked, "Then patch you up afterwards."

John turned his stare to Deirdre and quirked an eyebrow up.

"No," Deirdre narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, what?" Rodney questioned.

"Why not?" John asked cheerfully, "I'll do the paperwork and everything. All you have to do is sign."

"Mine," Deirdre declared firmly.

"What are you talking about?" Rodney looked between them, "What paperwork?"

"Transfer orders go both ways, Vaughn," John reminded her.

"Get your own," Deirdre shifted a half step in front of Shelley.

"You know how much crap I have to go through to get _any_ Special Forces?" John complained, "It's three weeks' worth of paperwork and most of the time they tell me no anyway."

"They gave you a SEAL team," Deirdre pointed out, "Lt. Commander Warner brought his whole team into the Stargate program. You have a CRO – Captain Bosco – and you have a dozen well-qualified field medics. You have eleven recon Marines, four rangers, and eight EOD people. You have plenty of Special Forces guys. You don't need this one."

"We can never have enough special forces here," John argued, "Especially a medic – a _PJ –_ who's already gone through training at the SGC. You don't need a medic. I, on the other hand, need about twenty of him. You could be nice and transfer him over to me."

"I do too need a medic," Deirdre scowled, "You can't have him."

"Are you two arguing over the new guy?" Rodney asked incredulously.

"What are you even going to do with him?" John questioned.

"I can think of plenty of things to do with him," Deirdre retorted.

"Do these things involve pants?" Shelley smirked.

"Shut up, Lucas," Deirdre elbowed him in the stomach without looking away from John, "You'll break him."

"I will not," John half-pouted, "How am I going to break him?"

"I don't know," Deirdre huffed, "You just will. You can't have him."

"Come on, Vaughn," John gave her his best puppy eyes, "Pretty please?"

"Seriously?" Rodney rolled his eyes, "This is ridiculous. You're both idiots."

"Not happening, Sheppard," Deirdre insisted.

"Sorry, sir," Shelley shook his head fondly, "I don't think you're going to win this one. She decided I was one of hers years ago and she gets all mama-bear when she adopts someone."

"I do _not_ ," Deirdre glared up at Shelley, "adopt people. And I do not get all _mama-bear_."

"If I understand the phrase 'mama-bear' correctly," a smile pulled at the corners of Teyla's mouth, "I believe that it is an accurate assessment."

"Teyla," Deirdre protested.

"Well, if you change your mind, Master Sergeant," John offered hopefully, "I'll fight her for you."

"You'll lose," Deirdre smirked.

"I'll get Ronon to sit on her until she signs the transfer," John corrected, "Or better yet, I'll get Elizabeth to pout at her until she agrees."

"I'll let you know, sir," Shelley laughed.

"I suppose I'd better show you around," Deirdre picked her tablet up off the table, "Give you the tour before I put you to work."

"And you can help me unpack," Shelley finally dropped his arm from her waist, "They gave me more space than I needed so I brought goodies," Deirdre looked up at Shelley curiously and he smirked, "Eliot found your place in Colorado."

"Which one?" Deirdre wondered.

"You own more than one place in Colorado?" Rodney questioned.

"Depends on who you ask," Deirdre shrugged.

"Of course it does," Rodney rolled his eyes, "Idiot."

"I'm not sure why you were expecting a different response, jackass," Deirdre smiled widely at Rodney before turning back to Shelley, "So which one?"

"The stash house in Denver," Shelley answered easily, "I wasn't sure what we'd need out here, so I brought everything I could fit."

"Let's get on with the tour then, so I can see what toys you brought for me to play with," Deirdre stepped around Nemesis to lay a hand on Ronon's shoulder, "We're still on for tonight. 2000 in Gym 4."

"Bring him," Ronon jerked his chin towards Shelley.

"Only if you promise not to break any of his bones," Deirdre said dryly, "I'm going to need his help with training the others."

"Fine," Ronon grumbled.

"Sparring?" Shelley wondered.

"Yeah," Ronon glared at him.

"Sweet," Shelley grinned sharply, "Looking forward to it."

"Shall I alert the infirmary," Teyla raised an eyebrow, "to have the suture kits ready for when you are finished?"

"I'll take away all their sharp objects first, _kua'ana_ ," Deirdre assured her.

"While that is a prudent action, _kaina_ ," Teyla looked between the three of them, "I have seen the way you and Ronon spar. If your friend is anything like you, someone will end up bloodied."

"That's how you know you're doing it right," Shelley smirked.

Teyla gave Shelley a flat look.

"We'll be careful, ma'am," Shelley ducked his head sheepishly.

"I appreciate that, Master Sergeant Shelley," Teyla smiled serenely.

"We're going," Deirdre grabbed Shelley's hand and muttered, "before she makes us do something else."

"Spencer didn't warn me about her," Shelley bent to whisper in Deirdre's ear, "She's terrifying."

"Believe me," Deirdre agreed as she started to move away from the table, Nemesis trailing behind her, "I know."

"Hey, Red, wait!" Rodney called after her.

" _Red_?" Shelley's eyebrows shot up, "You let him call you Red?"

"I do," Deirdre turned back to Rodney, "Yes, Rodney?"

"What about my new boots?" Rodney questioned, "Let me guess, they only sent the left one."

"You never let anyone call you by anything other than a version of whatever name your using," Shelley looked over to Rodney.

"Hush, Lucas," Deirdre squeezed his hand without looking away from Rodney, "Yes, your boots are here. I asked Captain Randall about them specifically when he called about the uniform situation. You can pick them up when you pick up your uniform."

"Finally," Rodney huffed, "It's about time they got here."

"Why does she let you call her Red?" Shelley questioned.

"Because I'm her _friend_ ," Rodney declared haughtily.

"I'm her friend too," Shelley studied Rodney carefully, "What makes you different?"

"He's the favorite," Ronon snorted.

"Can't figure out why though," John drawled, "All they do is argue."

"Who wins?" Shelley asked curiously.

"I do," Deirdre and Rodney insisted at the same time.

"It's about sixty forty," John smirked, "In favor of Vaughn."

"Huh," Shelley looked back to Deirdre.

"One word, Suriel," Deirdre swore.

"I didn't say a thing," Shelley grinned.

"We're leaving," Deirdre pulled Shelley towards the door.

* * *

 **With the holiday weekend coming up next weekend, I'm taking a week off to spend with the family. The next chapter will be up the week after (the first Saturday/Sunday of 2016). Thanks again for reading and I'll see you all next year!**


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